


G is for guilt

by whumpertrooper



Series: A to Z Charlie whump [7]
Category: The Doctor Blake Mysteries
Genre: F/M, Family, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Near Death Experiences, Nightmares, PTSD, Paralysis, Poisoning, a to z charlie whump, broken ribs, everyone is feeling guilty, this one is dark folks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-12-16 03:23:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21029444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whumpertrooper/pseuds/whumpertrooper
Summary: When Blake's past catches up to him, it is Charlie who pays the price. Another installment of A to Z Charlie Whump challenge.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Another fic for the A to Z Charlie whump challenge. This one is dark, and I mean it. Sorry in advance. I truly do not mean any harm to Charlie, but alas. It is also Whumptober ;D As always, the story is unbetaread. I tried to research most of the medical/historical info for accuracy, but some things I had to make up. Hope you won't mind. Enjoy the story.
> 
> TW: Not for the faint of heart, might involve some gory imagery. Proceed with caution.

Charlie Davis was dead.

Blake, Lawson and Dr. Harvey stepped into the room just as Barnaby Jones put the pistol towards his own temple. Blake froze in the door, taking in the armed suspect and the unmoving body on the floor.

„Don't-" was all he managed to say.

Barnaby Jones grinned widely and cocked the gun.

"See you in hell, Blake. Enjoy my work."

A shot rang out and Blake closed his eyes at the scene. He flinched as blood splattered through the room, hitting him in the face.

He didn't care for Barnaby, not one ounce. But he cared for the body lying on the floor. He cared for the fact that there was a needle stuck in its neck. He cared for the fact that it was Charlie, lying there, unmoving. With his eyes wide open. Still.

"Bloody hell! Call an ambulance!" Blake shouted even as he crossed the room and fell down on his knees. He ignored the mess around created by Barnaby's suicide. If the man hadn't been dead, Blake would have killed him on the spot. Or maybe later. After he found out just what the hell did the man inject Charlie with.

"No, no, no, no," Blake muttered frantically as he pulled the now empty syringe from Charlie's neck. There was a spot of blood around the wound, but nothing else. Nothing but a bit of clear liquid left in the needle.

Blake's fingers pushed against Charlie's carotid artery, praying to find a pulse. There was nothing, only the shaking of his own fingers.

"Come on, Charlie!" Blake called out, patting Charlie on the cheek, looking at the nonreactive pupils. The lights were on, but the pupils were wide.

Blake laid his other hand on Charlie's chest, praying for movement.

Nothing.

"I radioed for ambulance," Lawson said a bit breathless as he limped back into the room and observed the scene. "Is he... is Charlie..." Lawson stood still next to Blake, for once in his life unable to finish a sentence.

Blake shook his head.

"No. He can't be. I won't allow it!"

With that, Blake put both his hands over Charlie's chest, turned them into a fist and started pumping.

One, two, three, four, five... he counted up to fifteen, paused and blew two breaths into Charlie's mouth.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven... fifteen, another breath.

Rinse and repeat.

"Matthew, you need to help him," Alice said, pushing Lawson to the other side.

"What?" Lawson asked, stupefied.

"With the breathing! Blake can't do it alone, he won't last until the ambulance arrives."

Lawson shot her a consternated look.

"Shouldn't you do it then? I don't have any medical training!"

"Stop bickering and get the hell down, Matthew!" Blake shouted, already breathless from the chest compressions. "I need Alice to look around. We need to find out what was in that syringe."

Lawson grumbled, but joined into the rescue effort without more protests. He did after all have a first aid training from the army. He just never thought he would have to use it on his second in command.

Blake's mind was afire, trying to figure out just what poison might've Barnaby used. Whatever it was, it had a fast reaction time. They had seen Charlie through the glass window of the door standing, albeit a bit dazedly, but trying to fight off his attacker, before he was injected with the substance. In the next moment he dropped to the floor, lifeless. It couldn't have been more than three minutes before Blake managed to break down the door to enter the room, before Jones shot out his own brain and Blake overcame the shock enough to reach Charlie's body. Three minutes without a heartbeat, without oxygen.

Blake didn't want to think about Charlie's chances of coming out of this brain damaged. He wanted to think even less about the option that he wouldn't come back at all.

The thought made him push a bit harder and he felt Charlie's chest crack. Lawson flinched at the sound and Blake said a silent sorry to Charlie, but he kept going. A broken rib could heal. Oxygen deprived brain couldn't.

Alice was going through the room methodically, albeit in a hurry. Her first priority was to look for any more bottles or syringes, preferably with labels. Any medical or laboratory equipment that would give them a clue. When nothing like that turned up, she started going through the few books and journals lying on the desk and in the drawers.

"Alice? Anything?" he asked, feeling more and more desperate by each passing minute. He stopped the compressions only long enough to check for a pulse, while Lawson breathed for Charlie. Nothing.

At one point he felt a flicker, but he couldn't be sure it wasn't just his own pulse. His heart seemed to be beating strong and fast enough for both of them.

Blake waited ten more seconds, acutely aware that stopping the compressions would mean certain death. But he couldn't stop looking at the wide open eyes. So unmoving. So dead.

Blake swallowed down the urge to cry and rant and put his hands back on Charlie's chest.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight...

"Wait!"

It was Alice, looking through one of the notebooks. They knew Barnaby poisoned his victims, they just couldn't figure out with what. The man had been travelling all over the world. He had several PhDs, from biochemistry to zoology. He was a genius... with a personal vendetta against one Lucien Blake.

"What?" Blake barked, feeling another rib give way under his palms. He was wishing to hear the sirens of the ambulance, although he wasn't sure it would help anything. Not unless Charlie started to breathe... not unless those dead eyes stopped staring right at Blake. He shuddered, wanting nothing more than to reach out and close those eyes, but it seemed too final.

"Neurotoxins... snakes. There are a lot of notes about snakes..." Alice reached for one publication, the one with the most dog eared spine. She listed through.

Blake didn't have the patience. He could practically feel Charlie's body getting cold under his hands.

"Damn it, Charlie! Don't do this to me," he growled, pumping at his chest with renewed fervour.

"Blake, stop." Alice spoke, her face a mask of concentration as she seemed to find something in the book.

"What? No. I'm not giving up."

Lawson looked up, first at Blake, then at Alice.

"Should I ... keep going?"

"Yes!" both of them barked at him.

"Lucien, stop right now!" Alice said, throwing the book away and crossing the space between them. She physically pulled Blake off of Charlie.

"What the hell?" he asked in surprise. Alice didn't touch people if she didn't have to. She definitely didn't try to stop them from saving other people.

"Stop the chest compressions... before you truly kill him," she said and leaned over, putting her ear right over Charlie's heart. She listened and waited. Blake waited as well, praying for a miracle.

* * *

Charlie never thought he would die by the hands of Lucien Blake. But now that the man kept pumping at his chest, bruising skin and breaking ribs, Charlie wondered if this was truly the way he goes. Blake would simply crush his chest until his heart gave up.

Maybe it was the better option, Charlie thought darkly, remembering the one sided speech he got from Barnaby shortly before the man jabbed the needle into his neck.

"_You will pray for death when they put your body onto the autopsy table. Just imagine... all the pain as they cut open your chest and crack your ribcage open... like a piñata," _Barnaby said with a sadistic smile, while Charlie struggled against the tight hold on his neck.

"_Only to see your heart pump one last time before all that pain kills you."_

Charlie felt sick to his stomach at the time, but the psychopath continued. "_And the best thing... the absolute best thing I hope I will get to see from the other side... the moment when Blake realizes you were still alive. Awake... through it all."_

'No,' Charlie thought. Dying right now would indeed be a better option.

It was pity that he had absolutely no control over the situation.

For the millionth time in the last few minutes Charlie cursed the fact he let himself be used as a pawn. Or rather a tool of revenge as it seemed. He shouldn't have taken the call, hell, he shouldn't have followed up on it, alone. But it was just a simple disturbance, on his way home. At least that's how it seemed.

He arrived at the address, only to find a half open door, beckoning him inside. His instincts screamed at him not to continue, that something was wrong. He called in a back up on the radio at least, but when a minute later there was a call for help from the inside, he couldn't wait any longer.

Charlie wasn't sure what exactly happened, only that one moment he was running up the stairs, the next he was lying on the floor, his head throbbing and mind hazy. Above him towered a man he saw only on a blurry newspaper clipping Doc showed him few days earlier..

Before Charlie could do anything more than think 'Bloody hell', he was being hauled up to his feet. There was the sound of a car pulling up on the street, but no sirens. Charlie found himself in a chokehold, facing the entrance of the room. Struggling, trying to get free while Barnaby kept sadistically uncovering his plans for Charlie's demise.

"It will be so pretty," Barnaby whispered into Charlie's ear, easing the chokehold just enough for Charlie to be able to take a ragged breath. Charlie had a feeling he didn't do it out of consideration, rather that he didn't want to lose his captive audience prematurely.

"Oh, how I wish I could see it... but... I have a feeling this will be a much better way to end things."

With that Barnaby pushed the needle into Charlie's neck and pressed down the plunger.

For a moment, nothing happened. Charlie barely felt the injection as his neck was numb from the chokehold. He spotted a blurry face looking through the window in the entrance door. There were several thuds and as the door gave way, three familiar people entered.

He wanted to call out, to warn them from Barnaby. He wanted to push the man off himself, to fight back.

But he couldn't move.

There was a strange tingling sensation spreading from his neck down his spine, spreading through his body like wildfire.

Charlie tried to open his mouth, to gasp out in surprise and pain, but his jaw stayed closed. He didn't make a sound.

Barnaby eased the chokehold, an excited chuckle escaping him as without the support Charlie's body crumpled to the ground, boneless.

It was a strange feeling. Almost like an out of body experience, except in reverse. Charlie's mind was aware of every damn moment that followed. From hearing Barnaby's last words, to the gun firing out. Charlie felt a splatter of blood land on his left cheek and for a scary moment there was only blinding panic.

Whose blood was it? What happened?

Did Barnaby kill himself? Or did he shoot Blake? Or one of the others?

Charlie wanted so desperately to turn his head and just look, but the act seemed impossible. He lie on his back, eyes wide open. He stared at the ceiling and prayed for someone to appear in his line of vision. For someone to help.

The blood drop on his left cheek slowly slid down, leaving behind a trail of warm wetness. Charlie wanted to move his hand and brush it off. He wanted to do so many things... but most of all, he wanted to breathe.

It was the most bizarre feeling. To lie there, _awake_, but unable to move. To feel the venom spreading through his veins reaching his chest. The tightness and unnatural stillness where his heart should have been beating wildly in terror. The burning as his lungs ceased their work.

Barnaby's words on the forefront of his mind.

This had to be a nightmare. This couldn't be real.

There were voices around, voices he knew. Blake's face appeared in his line of vision and even though Charlie saw the red splatters of blood, he felt momentary relief. Blake was here. He was alive. If someone could figure out how to help Charlie, it had to be him.

But the image was wrong. Blake's face showed pure anguish, his voice when he spoke was filled with despair.

Charlie never saw him like that. He never _wanted _to see him like that. Especially not now, when he was supposed to help.

"No, no, no, no," Blake muttered as he knelt next to him and Charlie willed his eyes to move, willed his heart to beat when Blake's warm fingers pushed against his skin.

The anguish on the man's face deepened and Charlie felt true fear.

'_It will be so pretty, when he realizes you were alive all along,' _Barnaby's voice haunted him. Charlie wanted to scream. He wanted to weep, but he couldn't even close his damn eyes. He was forced to watch the man he thought of almost as a father to come to the realization he was late, that Charlie was dead.

Charlie couldn't breathe.

He _literally _couldn't breathe and it was starting to affect his vision a bit. There were dark splotches in the middle of his sight. The burning inside his chest became almost unbearable and no matter of will could force his lungs to cooperate.

Charlie knew that if Blake had given up, he would suffocate within the next few minutes.

Maybe that was the best.

When Blake leaned over him and put his hands on Charlie's chest, Charlie felt a quiver of hope. When Blake started with the compressions though the hope changed into apprehension.

The first few pushes were tolerable. Strange and uncomfortable, yes. But not overtly painful. Charlie wasn't sure what to think. He couldn't react, he couldn't protest. Hell, he didn't even know whether what Blake was doing was helping or harming him. The tightness in his chest grew and it took him a second to notice that Blake stopped pumping his chest and leaned over his face. The last thing he expected was to feel fingers prying at his jaw, opening his mouth.

Charlie felt consternated, but at the same time relieved. Blake breathed for him and even though it didn't feel enough, his starving lungs soaked it all up.

Two breaths... that was all he got.

Charlie wanted to scream.

Blake returned to his chest.

This time the compressions felt more like a kick in the gut.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight...

Charlie found himself counting alongside Blake. Each push more and more painful, but also driving at least some air in and out of his lungs.

One breath, two...

Back to compressions.

It took a moment when Charlie noticed the change.

After the next round of compressions it wasn't Blake leaning over him but Lawson and Charlie truly thought it might be better to just die right on the spot.

But life and Barnaby Jones were too cruel for that.

The rescue attempts continued and with each press and each breath Charlie was feeling more pain and fear.

Where the hell was the ambulance?

Did anyone know what was going on?

Couldn't anyone _help_?

"Come on, Charlie," Blake muttered in between compressions and despite the situation, Charlie felt just a bit of hope. The Doc wouldn't give up on him, no way.

Then the first rib cracked and gave way under Blake's force.

The pain shot through Charlie like lightning and despite Lawson breathing for him, it felt like his lungs wouldn't be able to take it. His chest was on fire and Charlie internally begged Blake to stop.

But the man kept going and Charlie's body was overcome by more pain. Each movement, each push sent spikes through his insides and he couldn't even shut his damn eyes closed. He had to watch the desperation grow on Lawson's face, he had to listen to Blake and Alice arguing, the sound of the ambulance finally piercing the air, but too far, too late.

He couldn't even cry.

Charlie counted.

One, two, three, four, five, six...fifteen.

Two breaths.

The breaths hurt just as well, his expanding lungs moving his broken ribs, but the pain was still smaller than the compressions. It was a respite, however small.

Another rib cracked and even as Blake begged for forgiveness, he kept on going.

Charlie prayed for darkness to take him.

He didn't understand why he couldn't just pass out. At this point he didn't even care anymore if he survived. He just wanted the pain to end.

"Blake, stop right now." It was Alice. Charlie thought _'Y__es please, stop. Stop the pain.'_ At the same time though there was that little part of Charlie, screaming louder than anything else. _'No, don't give up on me!'_

Alice spoke again, this time more forceful. Charlie didn't register the words at this point. He was caught up in counting.

One, two, three-

Then suddenly Blake stopped.

It took a second for Charlie to realize that everything else stopped as well, because by now he couldn't really discern between the burning of his oxygen starved lungs and the fire in his ribs. It all just coalesced into a white pulsating _something _that took over what used to be his upper body.

But his eyes were still open and he saw Lawson pulling back. There was a familiar red headed shape leaning over him.

Alice, their pathologist. Was she about to pronounce him dead?

No. No, that couldn't be.

Why did Blake stop? Why did Lawson? Were they truly giving up on him so soon?

The panic was horrible. Somehow, it was worse than the physical pain but there was nothing... absolutely _nothing_ Charlie could do.

His body wasn't his anymore.

Blake stopped the compressions and it seemed that Lawson followed suit.

Then Alice leaned down and put her head down on Charlie's chest.

He felt the pain at the weight, but it was nothing compared to the compressions. He could handle this. Only if his lungs would do their damn job and take in a breath.

Nothing moved.

It seemed as if everyone stopped breathing in solidarity with him as Alice rested her head on him.

Waiting.

Charlie's lungs screamed.

His sight was once again starting to give out, black dots spattering across his vision.

Charlie thought this was it.

He would die on a dirty floor in some apartment Blake's arch enemy rented out just so he could exact his revenge. He would die here, surrounded by people he thought of as family. Waiting for something.

His heart gave a feeble beat.

Alice let out a triumphant yelp and Charlie realized she heard it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for medical procedures in this one.

"What?"

For precious few seconds, Blake was frozen in place. He was still kneeling next to Charlie, though he made space when Alice pushed him back. Only to raise her head after a moment.

"I've got pulse!" she said, one hand now resting on Charlie's chest, the other on his neck.

Blake moved forward and Lawson stood awkwardly, trying not to be in the way.

"I couldn't feel anything. Are you sure he's..." Blake fell silent as Alice nodded.

"It's very slow, easy to miss," she admitted. Then frowned. "He still isn't breathing though."

Without hesitation, she leaned over and started giving Charlie a mouth to mouth. Blake didn't protest. Now that they knew Charlie had a pulse, they couldn't really keep doing the chest compressions, but it was even more important that Charlie didn't get oxygen deprived. Alice was definitely better skilled at providing first aid than Lawson.

Blake in the meantime kept a hand on Charlie's pulse points, feeling a jolt of hope each time there was a beat under his fingers. It was slow. Too slow and several times he thought it was just his imagination. But Alice kept breathing for Charlie and judging by the sound of sirens the ambulance was somewhere near. They just needed to keep Charlie alive and ventilated until they could get the machine to do that.

But would it be enough? What if Charlie's heart simply stopped in the next few minutes? What did Jones inject him with?

Blake's brain was churning, trying to come up with an answer. Jones had spent the last five years travelling around the world. He was a biologist and chemist, with an absurd love in the most strange creatures. The man could've encountered a toxin Blake never even heard of... hell, he could've found something _no one _in this part of the world had heard of. How could they find a cure?

Was there even a cure?

And what was happening to Charlie?

Blake looked at the body - _no, _at _Charlie_! - lying so still. Not a muscle moved... even the cut on his head seemed to have stopped bleeding. And his eyes... they were still wide open.

Blake cursed. Whatever was happening, Charlie shouldn't be like this. He shouldn't be staring up at the ceiling with dead eyes. Unblinking.

Blake reached up and softly closed Charlie's eyes, muttering an apology.

Lawson's eyes narrowed.

"What... why did you do that?" he growled. "Is he..." Lawson swallowed and it was clear he thought the worse had come. Blake shook his head, feeling guilty for being a cause of more worry.

"No... he still has a pulse," Blake said reassuringly, his left hand not leaving Charlie's carotid.

"Then why?"

"He... he is not blinking. His eyes need moisture or they will get dry and it can damage his sight," Blake explained, finding at least some calmness in that simple act.

Lawson nodded, still looking unsure.

Blake didn't blame him.

Right now he was lacking too many information and Charlie's life was on the line. All because of an old feud with Barnaby Jones.

Blake felt that guilt and anger deep inside and it couldn't be soothed even with a look at the lifeless body lying nearby. The man had already done too much damage and his soul burning in hell was just a small plaster on a too large wound.

"Can you... can you go outside and navigate the ambulance crew?" Blake asked and for the first time he saw relief on Lawson's face. Something the man could do to help.

Blake wished fixing Charlie would be so easy as well.

There was a nagging thought in the back of his head, but he didn't want to entertain it. He remembered reading about paralytic agents... about snakes or sea creatures that could slow down the heart and stop the breathing. The effects of those were horrible... for the victim as well as for their close ones. Blake just hoped that Charlie wasn't in pain.

'_Please dear Lord, let him not be aware of what is going on.'_

"Alice do you need to rest a bit?" Blake asked, suddenly wishing he could do something, anything except for just sitting there and counting the too slow heartbeat. Alice looked up from what she was doing and seemingly hesitated. It was clear she wasn't tired but she must've seen the desperation on Blake's face.

"Of course, thank you," she said and they exchanged places.

Blake leaned over and breathed for Charlie. Somehow, it seemed easier to do when he wasn't staring into those blue eyes.

Two breaths... pause. Two breaths...

"Do you have any idea about what was in that syringe?" Blake asked in between breaths. Alice was eyeing the syringe and shook her head.

"I'll take it to the lab and test it, but I'm afraid we won't get an exact answer."

"Best guess?"

Alice raised an eyebrow.

"Guessing is more your style than mine," she said, then sighed. "I'll take those books and notepads, and we might need to search this place from top to bottom and see if there isn't an antidote somewhere. But..."

"But you doubt it," Blake said, his voice tight.

Alice shrugged.

"You are the one who knew him personally," she nodded towards Barnaby's corpse. "From what I've seen so far, he was a vindictive man. I doubt he would've left us with anything helpful... or at least nothing too obvious."

Blake couldn't but agree with that. Barnaby Jones liked to play games. The more torturous, the better. Blake had expected that when he learned about Jones's return to Ballarat. He just didn't expect the man to target someone innocent.

Blake felt his own throat close up at the guilt that was eating at him. He fought the feeling, knowing right now he needed to focus on Charlie. Barnaby was dead, he couldn't hurt anyone else. But they needed to save Charlie. if only so that Blake could tell him how sorry he was.

His thoughts and self recriminations were interrupted by the arrival of the orderlies. They paused at the door, for a moment startled by the sight of the dead body, but one grunt and a pointed look from Lawson made sure they knew who was priority.

The stretcher was brought in and one of the man had ran back to the ambulance to grab the ambu bag. It was quite a new thing, but it made transporting a non-breathing patient easier. The only downside was that the mask didn't keep in place so well and it's handling required some training.

"Doctor, we will need a bit of help, at least until we get him to the car," one of the men spoke as he placed the mask on Charlie's face. "Can you grab the other side of the stretcher? I'll need to hold this in place."

"Of course," Blake said, happy to be able to help. Seeing as the mask had to be held down and the bag had to be squeezed, it was clear that the medic would need a hand in the ambulance. It was without argument that Blake slipped into the back of the car, his fingers clutching at the thready pulse.

"If you find anything-" he said, before the ambulance doors could be closed.

"I'll call you right away," Alice said. "Don't give up on him," she added.

Blake just shook his head. Never.

The fact he didn't notice the heartbeat was bad enough already. He wasn't going to give up on Charlie again.

* * *

Blake had closed his eyes and said sorry. For a scary moment Charlie thought that he was done, that this was goodbye. But Alice kept blowing breath into his lungs (and wouldn't that be just embarrassing if he ever woke up?), so Charlie thought this a kindness instead.

Only when his eyes closed did he realize how much they burned, how uncomfortable and painful it was not to blink. Even though the sudden darkness scared him... he couldn't _see _what was going on... it was preferable to the pain. Maybe it would make slipping into sweet unconsciousness a bit easier.

The pain was still there however. Even though Blake stopped with the compressions and Charlie thanked the Lord for that, his chest was burning. The breaths just didn't seem to be enough, really. His lungs were starved, but Charlie couldn't do a thing. He tried willing them to work, but he had no luck. No control at all.

It was scary and Charlie was sure if he could, he would be shaking.

Trapped inside his own body.

Without a way to let the others know he was there. That he was _aware_.

So he had to bear the forced stillness, the forced breaths. His only comfort in the touch of fingers on his neck and wrist, an occasional brush of skin against skin. The words that were being spoken, to him, about him.

Then the help came.

Or at least that was what Charlie wanted to think.

His body was of different mind. Suddenly, there was noise, too much noise to discern what was really going on. Then there were hands on his body, touching him, moving him. Pain bloomed through Charlie's insides as he was moved to the stretcher. The way too personal mouth to mouth had stopped at that point and if he wasn't already feeling panicked, it would have surely raised his heartbeat. Except he could tell his heart was too lazy, too drugged to give a crap about that.

Something rubbery and plastic was put on his face. It felt bulky and it covered too much, pressed against the root of his nose uncomfortably. A hand was keeping it in place and Charlie was acutely aware of the watch on that hand touching the bottom of his jaw. It was irritating. But it delivered air. Charlie wasn't that thrilled by the smell or the pressure, but it sure beat any of his friends having to breathe for him.

The stretcher began moving and there was another wave of panic, because Charlie couldn't see where they were going. His body felt weightless and at the same time too heavy, dependent on the help of strangers. Those people moved him quickly and efficiently, but they kept silent and Charlie couldn't tell what was going on.

He didn't know where was Blake, not until they settled him inside what he assumed to be an ambulance and Blake spoke.

"If you find anything-"

It was Alice who answered him and Charlie wondered if she could also hear the fear in the man's voice. Charlie could... and it chilled him to the bones.

If Blake and Alice didn't know what was happening to him... who would? What were his chances of ever waking up?

"It's okay, Charlie. I'm here. We will figure this out. You just... keep fighting, alright? Just keep fighting," Blake said, or rather muttered, with his head leaned in close to Charlie's ear.

Charlie didn't think Blake knew he could hear him, but the words gave him at least a flicker of hope. Now only if he could somehow signal Blake that he was indeed still there... listening.

The drive to the hospital seemed to pass in a moment, even though Charlie knew they were quite far away. He actually found himself apprehensive once the ambulance came to a halt. He wasn't a fan of whatever was offering him oxygen at the moment, but it sure as hell beat chest compressions.

What would happen next?

No one seemed to know he was awake. What was awaiting him inside the hospital? And what if Blake was called away and one of the other doctors would mistakenly assume that Charlie was indeed dead?

'_You will pray for death when they put your body onto the autopsy table.' _Barnaby's words kept ringing inside his head like a nightmarish mantra.

'No!' Charlie pushed them away. That was not going to happen. Not now. Not with Alice knowing and on the case... not with Blake by his side. All these thoughts... they were just Barnaby's mind games. Charlie wasn't going to fall for them. However easy it would be.

The jostling of the stretcher and the sudden onset of more hands brought Charlie back to the present. He wasn't dead yet and the people around knew it... they were trying to help. So Charlie tried to calm down.

That was easier said than done however.

Hands... Charlie thought they would leave him alone once he was off the stretcher. But they kept touching him. Charlie didn't know how many people were around, but he was quite aware it was more than there should be. Especially when someone started cutting off his clothes, another person tugged at his shoes and then pants.

Charlie panicked when he realised what they were doing... that they were stripping him bare, in front of who knew how many people. He thought the humiliation of it would at least bring some redness into his cheeks, but his blasted heart didn't speed up even a bit. His body was just a thing... a well constructed trap for Charlie's mind.

He tried to scream, to shout at everyone to stop _touching _him. To stop with the prodding, the poking. A needle pierced the skin on his inner elbow, drawing blood. For a second Charlie focused just on that, but then there was the rubber sleeve pulled up onto his other arm, inflating so much he thought his fingers would probably fall off. Sticky things put on his chest, a strange beeping sound echoing through the room. It was unnatural and it was slow. Too slow.

Voices of people he didn't know, calling out words he only ever heard in passing when the Doc got caught up in some medical case. Hands brushing casually over his exposed skin, doing things he couldn't even discern.

There was too much sensory input... but also too little. Charlie couldn't comprehend and he wanted to just shut it off... for everything to stop.

Someone had at least covered his legs and waist with a blanket, but his chest remained on display. His ribs hurting with each inhale and exhale. Still, someone kept pumping the air into his lungs through the mask... until it was suddenly gone.

For a moment there was no contact at all. Charlie could hear shuffling, clinking. He could hear the normal sounds of the hospital in the background, somewhere far away. Footsteps in the hall, a man moaning with pain, a nurse shouting at someone to stop running.

But in the room he was in no one spoke.

Charlie felt the oppressive silence almost like a weight sitting down on his chest. He couldn't breathe and they took off his mask...

Why did they stop?

What was going on?

Where was _Blake?_

Suddenly there were fingers on his face. His head was tilted back, jaw becoming slack. Someone had worked his mouth open and before he could comprehend what was going on, a piece of metal touched his tongue.

If Charlie could, he would have frozen in place.

What the hell?

The piece of metal lay on his tongue for a second, then pushed in, sliding down his throat.

"Careful," a voice said and Charlie recognized it as Blake, but he didn't much care. All he could think of right now was the feeling of being suffocated, fighting with the urge to vomit. But nothing in his body seemed to work at this moment and that applied to the gag reflex as well. Charlie was almost thankful for that.

He could tell the world was turning grey around the edges even with his eyes closed... his lungs were burning with need for air and there was a thumping headache inside his temples.

"Okay, I am in," a voice of a stranger spoke. "Hand me the tube, nurse Janice."

There was more shuffling around and Charlie felt like his jaw might pop out anytime for being in such a weird position.

Something else had joined the metallic instrument and Charlie _felt _the thing sneaking down his windpipe. It was the most disconcerting feeling and all he could think of was that he wanted it _out_. Right the hell now. His throat was obstructed, there was no oxygen and everything hurt.

Were they trying to torture him?

Charlie's mind was close to shutting off and he was at a point where he would have welcomed it.

But then the metallic thing was pulled out, leaving the tube inside. There was a mouthpiece that would prevent him to bite down on the tube, all taped to his skin.

Something clicked. There was a whoosh.

Sweet oxygen flooded Charlie's lungs. His chest rose and fell rhythmically as the machine worked its magic.

Charlie wanted to be thankful, he really did. Each swish of the machine that sent fresh air into his lungs was a blessing, soothing the craving need for oxygen.

It was also a curse.

Because with each forced inhale, Charlie's chest expanded. His broken ribs moved around more than they ever could if Charlie was left to the shallow breaths the others provided.

It hurt like hell.

And there were no painkillers.

Charlie knew. He heard the nurse asking and he heard Blake's answer.

"We don't know what he was given. Until we get some toxicology results... anything we give him can kill him."

That meant there was no reprieve in his close future.

If his body had worked properly, Charlie would've wept.

Right now, there was nothing he could do however, just bear it. Bear it and pray for unconsciousness or death. Whichever came first.


	3. Chapter 3

Blake had settled down in the chair, running a hand over his weary face. Things had finally settled down... to a degree. There were people milling around, but that was to be expected in the intensive care unit. Jean had stopped by a short while ago, horrified by the situation. She wanted to stay but Blake refused. It was bad enough he had to be witness to Charlie in this state. Having Jean sitting around, worried, would just make things worse. He didn't want her to be around in case Charlie's condition got worse and they had to take more drastic measures to keep him alive.

At least that was how he defended this decision to her. In truth though, it was a purely selfish decision. Blake just couldn't handle the questions, the worried looks she kept throwing his way. She was showing concern for _Blake _and that just felt wrong. Because really, this was his fault.

Charlie lying in this bed, hooked up to a ventilator that delivered the much needed oxygen. Blake really hoped it wasn't too late, that the boy didn't suffer any brain damage from the short while it took for them to start the resuscitation.

He looked dead.

Blake thought him dead and if not for the occasional wave and beep of the cardioscope Charlie was connected to, he might've thought him dead now as well. Charlie was pale and motionless. He didn't twitch. There was no movement under his closed eyelids and Blake cringed at the thought, because he should have closed Charlie's eyes so much sooner. Now they had to use eye drops ever so often to lessen the possible irritation. Not that it showed so far.

Whatever Barnaby used, it was potent. Lawson and Alice had stayed behind at the scene and Blake could just hope they found something that would clue them in. The hospital laboratory was already checking samples of Charlie's blood, but that could be a long process and a fruitless one. Blake wished there was a better, faster technology they could use. A machine where they put samples and it would pop out the results, just like that. Telling them what was coursing through Charlie's body... what to do to help him.

Because right now, they were in the dark.

If it was a snake toxin... it must've been one only few people encountered. Blake had read about similar effects from a puffer fish, but it still wasn't the same. If not for the occasional heart beat... or maybe the too slow heartbeat... Charlie would be dead. Without the ventilator he would've most likely already died. But Blake wasn't sure. Because he heard rumours. Rumours about toxins from the deep jungles of South America. About herbs that could bring on a dead like state. Rumours about walking corpses.

Those were just that... rumours. But Barnaby Jones still managed to find something that worked. The question was what. And could Blake find an antidote? Was there even one?

Or would he be reduced to sit there in this chair and watch as Charlie's heart beat slowly vanished, until there was nothing left? Would they even know he was dead?

Blake shook his head. No. He couldn't be thinking like that. His eyes kept moving between Charlie's still face and the monitor of the cardioscope... waiting for each wave indicating a heartbeat with bathed breath. He counted between each wave... praying and hoping that the intervals would lessen instead of increasing. So far, they seemed to be the same and that at least gave him hope.

The toxin seemed to have a fast effect, knocking Charlie out almost immediately. But that was over two hours ago now and its effects didn't change. They didn't lessen, but they also didn't worsen and that was admittedly good. It might mean that once the toxin worked its way out of Charlie's system, they might see some improvement.

A nurse stopped by to check the machines and to give Charlie a manual check of vitals. Blake watched absentmindedly, still counting the time between each heartbeat. As the nurse gently laid Charlie's hand back on the bed, Blake frowned. Did he miscount? Or did that heart beat come just a second sooner? He counted again... a second less.

The nurse gave Blake a sheepish smile as she scribbled the numbers into the chart and handed it right over to him.

"Do you want a cup of coffee or tea, Dr. Blake?" she asked and Blake gave her a small smile.

"Not right now, Gladys. But thank you."

She nodded and left to check on the other patients. Blake skipped over the chart but it didn't give him anything new. He returned to the counting... and was dismayed to see the time between the beats had returned to previous numbers.

Frowning, he leaned over and took hold of Charlie's wrist. Maybe the machine was wrong.

Or maybe it wasn't.

"Charlie?" Blake asked, hope colouring his voice as he saw a beat that came a full three seconds earlier than it was supposed to. "Can you hear me?"

Blake watched the machine and saw that the beat had slowed down again, but not by much. He didn't know what to think of it. Was Charlie reacting to outside stimuli? Could he hear Blake's voice or feel his touch?

At first, the idea thrilled Blake. If there was some recognition, it meant there was still hope that Charlie wasn't lost to the world. It meant they could get him back.

But the elation quickly changed into horror.

If Charlie could somehow perceive what was going on, even if just on the most basic level... if he could feel touch, he most likely could feel pain as well.

Blake blanched at the thought. Because he heard of such things too. About patients being awake during surgeries. About...

No. That wasn't the case.

Blake wasn't about to entertain such thought. Surely, not even Barnaby could be so cruel?

Blake swallowed.

He could. If his encounters with the man had taught him anything, it was the fact Barnaby Jones was one of the most cruel people he met. And Blake had the misfortune to meet a lot of cruel people. Especially during wartime.

After all, that was where he met Barnaby. In Singapore, in the internment camp.

Barnaby wasn't a soldier when the war came to its head. He was just a British citizen, caught in the wrong place at a wrong time. A citizen who happened to be in south Asia studying exotic animals and their toxins. At least that's how he presented himself to all and sundry. Until Blake figured out he wasn't just a simple civilian and that for his own freedom, he offered the Chinese a little bit scientific knowledge.

Of course the Chinese at the camp weren't willing to just take his word and required some proof. That came in the form of presentation. Blake had the misfortune of witnessing Barnaby's presentation, which involved injecting another captive, a young British soldier, with a drug of unknown origin. At least unknown for Blake. The effects were instantaneous. And they were horrible.

Blake still had to shudder at the pained screams of that soldier, praying for death. It came. And Barnaby got a tap on his shoulder. He was moved to a secured location and Blake couldn't but grind his teeth and try to survive, hoping for the end of war.

When rescue came and they were freed from the camp, Blake was in too bad a shape to even think about Barnaby. Until he spotted him in one of the hospital beds about a week later.

Blake couldn't believe his eyes.

The man didn't look like a prisoner of war. If it hadn't been for the bullet in the leg, he would have looked healthy and untroubled. And maybe that was the reason why he let himself get shot in the leg in the first place as soon as there was a word about the end of the war and the release of prisoners. After all, he could hardly walk out in perfect health and not be questioned about it. And who would have believed that he was just an innocent man, minding his own business?

Not Blake.

Next night, he sneaked into the nurse's station and found his chart. He frowned at the strange angle of the shot apparent from the x-ray. He frowned even more when he saw that Barnaby was to be released in two days. That wouldn't do.

So despite his own weakness, despite the fact he kept being attacked by flashbacks at the slightest trigger, Blake decided to act. He waited until morning, fighting down the urge to just slip into Barnaby's room and put a pillow over his face. It would've been so easy. And so fitting, for what he had done to the poor soldier.

Once the sun was up, Blake contacted his superiors. He told them everything.

He then watched, with satisfaction, as instead of a release and a ride home to Britain, Barnaby was taken out of the hospital in handcuffs. Led off to face martial court.

Blake couldn't fathom how the man managed to escape from his escort, but he did, killing two more soldiers in the process. Then he vanished.

That was almost fifteen years ago. Blake had worked as a spy in the meantime and thus got his hands on more details of Barnaby's work for the Chinese. He also got word from one of his contacts that the man was spotted in South America. Like a lot of other German soldiers or scientist that had taken part in that horrible war. As with them, there were attempts to apprehend Barnaby, but they never worked out. And despite the man having a family in London, he never tried to contact them either.

Blake felt at least a level of satisfaction over that... knowing just what hell that must've been from personal experience. He was glad Barnaby's family didn't have to meet the monster their loved one had become. That they could think him dead, rather than a traitor and murderer.

Blake wished it could have stayed that way. He wished that Barnaby Jones had died in a jungle of South America. Instead of coming to Australia and targeting Blake's friends and family. Taking his ire out on Charlie, of all people.

Blake shuddered. He was trying to find clues, anything that could bring light into Charlie's situation. What was Barnaby's true goal? And why would the man kill himself in the process? It didn't make much sense. If anything, Blake would have expected him to gloat. After all, the man made it clear this was personal. Fifteen years... he waited fifteen years, then came to hunt Blake down. There was to be a reason and Blake swore he would figure it out. Just as soon as Charlie was out of the woods.

Blake's hand curled tighter around Charlie's wrist. He hasn't let go in the past twenty minutes or so. He also never really stopped counting.

"Come on, Charlie. Come back to us," Blake spoke quietly, leaning over the still figure to brush away a stray lock of hair. Hoping the touch and the words might bring forth Charlie's conscious mind.

Nothing twitched... the heartbeat slow and unchanging.

With a sigh, Blake settled back down in the chair, taking hold of Charlie's hand instead of his wrist. If there was nothing else he could do, Blake would at least make sure that Charlie knew of his presence.

More time had passed and Blake was becoming more and more restless. There seemed to be no change in Charlie's condition and while he knew that was almost a positive thing at this point, and that it might take time, Blake had to fight down the urge to just walk out of the room. He wanted to get a drink, he wanted to return to the crime scene and search it up and down. Hell, he wanted five minutes alone with Barnaby's body, just to pummel the bastard.

None of that could however take precedence over being by Charlie's side. Because if something had happened while Blake was gone... he would never forgive himself.

Someone cleared their throat and Blake jerked in surprise.

"Matthew!" he spoke, then let out a sigh. Lawson was standing only few feet from him, looking nervous and out of place. A nurse was casting him a reproachful look and it was clear he would be ushered outside in the next moment, so Blake stepped in.

"It's okay, Gladys. Just give us a moment please, will you?"

The nurse huffed, but then she gave a nod and pretended to look away. Lawson raised an eyebrow in question.

"It's past visiting hours," Blake explained and stood up. "Maybe we should take this outside?"

"Yes... " Lawson cleared his throat once again, his eyes frozen on the machine that was currently pumping air into Charlie's lungs. "Yes, we should," he said, clearly uncomfortable.

Blake nodded, but was somewhat reluctant to leave Charlie's side, even if it was only for a few minutes. Nurse Gladys seemed to sense his hesitation, because she walked up to them.

"Why don't you go grab a cup of tea, Dr. Blake? I'll keep an eye on Sergeant Davis while you're gone."

Blake had no intentions of getting tea or coffee, but he welcomed the offer and thanked the nurse, feeling at least a bit of relief when she settled down in his chair and took hold of Charlie's hand instead.

Lawson was already outside, leaning against the wall, his cane thumping absentmindedly against the cold floor.

"He doesn't look good," were the first words out of his mouth. "He looks..."

'Dead' was the word implied, but Lawson stopped himself from saying it.

Blake still felt the need to correct him.

"He's not."

"That machine..."

"It's keeping him alive for the moment."

Lawson shuddered.

"I would never want to end up like that, Lucien. Never."

Blake looked Lawson in the eyes. He understood. Being stuck on life support, unable to take care of himself and just... fade away... wasn't the way he wanted to go either. But this was Charlie. He was young and innocent and hell... he didn't deserve any of this.

"It's just temporary," Blake said with more conviction than he truly felt. "He'll come out of this."

Lawson stared at him for a moment, than nodded.

"Of course. He's as much of a stubborn fool as you are."

"I'll tell him you said that when he wakes up," Blake said seriously and Lawson let a small grin slip on his face.

"Didn't expect anything less," he said. Then, as if remembering the reason for his visit, he reached into a bag which Blake only now took notice of.

"Here. We searched the place up and down. Alice took some of the books, but there were a few notepads and a journal that were written all in Latin. She thought you might get over them quicker than she."

Blake nodded absentmindedly, taking the items, eyes already running through the neat handwriting in the journal.

"Did you find anything else? Other substances maybe?"

Lawson shook his head.

"No, there was absolutely nothing in the room, Lucien. Not even a bottle of cologne."

Blake looked up from the journal with a frown.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that except for several clothes and those books and journals there were no personal items whatsoever. Which makes me think that perhaps Barnaby had rented another room... or he had a car somewhere. Or... this was a suicide mission all along."

Blake raised an eyebrow and Lawson sighed.

"I'm already looking into it, Lucien. Bill and some of the guys are talking to the neighbours and looking for cars that might not belong. I was trying to get hold of Mrs. Newman who rented the apartment to Barnaby, but so far no luck. According to her neighbour she left town two days ago and went to visit friends in Sydney."

"I hope she is just visiting," Lucien muttered, thinking that with Barnaby's record, the woman could have as well been dead somewhere.

Lawson nodded grimly, his thoughts going in similar vein. Blake saw him cast another glance towards the room with Charlie and he felt the urge to return there fighting with the urge to flee. He envied everyone the chance to just leave and not have to watch the machine breathing for Charlie, not having to count the seconds between each beat of heart and dreading that the next one will come later or not at all. He envied the chance to just leave the fear and worry behind, to close his eyes and maybe think that when he opens them, things will be magically fixed.

But that was just wistful thinking, and not at all something Blake would turn to at the moment. And in a way, returning to sit by Charlie's side seemed just like the punishment he deserved. For dragging the kid into this situation... for endangering his loved ones. He should have known better. He should've been ready.

"Alice said she would stop by at the lab and enquire about the samples from the syringe," Lawson spoke, breaking through Blake's inner turmoil.

Blake blinked and focused on his friend. He saw the look of understanding in his eyes and cringed. He didn't deserve any sympathy.

"When is she doing the autopsy?"

Blake wanted to be there. He wanted to make sure the autopsy was done properly, that no clue was ignored. But most of all he wanted to see Barnaby Jones dead on that table. It might've been petty or childish. It definitely had something to do with Blake's thirst for revenge, albeit he knew this wouldn't sooth it. It was too little too late and right now there were more important things to focus on. Like Charlie.

"I'm pretty sure she was planning to head to the autopsy from the lab," Lawson spoke and Blake gave a satisfied nod.

"Good," he said. If anyone else would be taking care of the autopsy, Blake would have felt the need to watch over them. But Alice Harvey was different. He trusted her and knew that she had an exquisite eye for detail. If there was something to find, she would be the one to do it. And Blake could stay with Charlie, without feeling that he was letting him down even more.

"Do you-" Lawson cleared his throat. "Do you have any idea if... _when _will Charlie wake up?"

Blake shook his head.

"We are hoping that once the toxin is out of his system... but unless we know what he's been given, it's impossible to say."

Lawson sighed and rubbed at his eyes tiredly.

"Do you want me to hang around?"

Blake shook his head.

"No... that won't do anyone any good. Not to mention Gladys would kick you out anyway."

Lawson snorted.

"Can't you just use your charm on her?"

Blake grimaced.

"I'm afraid my charm and good looks go only so far. The nurses are mostly immune to it."

Lawson nodded.

"That's why they scare me," he admitted and Blake let a small smile touch his lips. This banter would be so refreshing, so normal. If he couldn't hear the whoosh of the ventilator from behind the door, a constant reminder of the situation. A thought struck him then and Blake felt his stomach churn.

"Did you call Shirley?" he asked, all humour gone.

Lawson eyed him for a second, then gave a curt nod.

"She'll be here in the morning."

Blake wasn't sure if he should be thankful that Lawson remembered to call Charlie's mother, or if he should be dreadful of the morning. He was truly hoping that Charlie would turn a corner by the time she arrived. Blake couldn't even imagine facing the mother and having to explain what happened. While she might be used to the thought of Charlie getting hurt at work, Blake was sure her acceptance wouldn't reach beyond that. And how was he supposed to explain that the only reason Charlie was lying there, half dead, was because of his association with Blake?

"She won't be here before ten," Lawson offered, as if reading his thoughts. "Charlie might be back to normal by then."

Blake nodded.

"Let's hope so."

He looked at the journal in his hands, then glanced at the room. Lawson shuffled.

"I better go now. I'll stop by the station and see if Bill has something new. Then I'll head home and make sure Jean doesn't clean up the whole house," Lawson said, knowing well that when Jean was anxious she tended to turn her energy into work.

"Thank you, Matthew," Blake said, meaning it. He wished to be back home as well, sit down in his favourite chair and take Jean into his arms. Happy that she was safe and by his side. But he couldn't right now. Knowing that Matthew would be there and offer some form of support at least eased his burden and lightened his heart.

"Nothing to thank for. Just take care of the kid."

They shared a look and Blake finally nodded.

"Of course."

Lawson left without another word. Blake stood in the hall for a minute longer, somehow dreading his return to Charlie's bedside. He felt the weight of the journal in his hand however. Taking a deep breath he braced himself and walked inside.

Charlie lay on the bed, as still as before. The only movement the regular raising and falling of his chest. Gladys looked up with a soft smile on her lips then got up and relented her place to Blake.

"Any changes?" Blake felt the need to ask, even though one look at the heart monitor showed no difference.

"I'm afraid not, Dr. Blake. But he isn't getting worse either. That's good."

Blake nodded and settled down in the chair that would most likely have the permanent imprint of his butt come morning. He pushed the chair a bit forward so he could once again grasp Charlie's hand. He cringed at the cold skin... but was reassured when in a moment he saw a wave on the monitor. Charlie was still there, still fighting.

Blake opened the journal.

It was quite some time that he last read Latin texts, but his memory was well trained and languages were a bit of a hobby for him.

He settled down, ready for a long wait and a read that might bring more questions than answers.

* * *

Several hours had passed and Lucien's heart was in turmoil. The journal was no help. Well, it could've been, if they had several weeks of time for testing different agents and antitoxins. Barnaby was nothing if not meticulous... and sadistic.

Blake was expecting that he won't find a mention about the toxin. Instead... he found dozens of them. Different toxins from different animals. Some he haven't even heard about, deep from the South American jungles. He could just imagine Barnaby laughing from the grave, watching him browse through all the possibilities. Trouble was that Blake might attempt to create or procure an antitoxin to several of those toxins. He had the contacts, he knew people who could help. But... there were too many options. Barnaby made sure of that if nothing else.

And an antitoxin to one thing could have been a poison if administered for a different toxin. Charlie was safer off getting nothing at this moment.

Blake felt his anger at Barnaby and in connection to himself rise. He should have known the man would attack someone close to him. There were threats, there were even false attempts at his life which tempted Lawson to keep him under wraps and protected. Hell, Blake should have known right after the first botched attempt that Barnaby never really planned hurting him outright. No. If the man had wanted him dead, Blake would've been dead without Barnaby even stepping foot to Australia. A simple letter laced with some toxin could've done the job for goodness sake. But Barnaby wanted him to suffer, he wanted him to feel the guilt.

For some reason he chose Charlie as his victim. Blake wasn't sure why Charlie. Why not Jean? Anyone with eyes could see how much he loved her...

Blake shuddered, suddenly feeling sick to his stomach. Sick at the short flash of thankfulness that it wasn't Jean who suffered this fate. Just the thought of seeing her so motionless...

Blake had to get up and take a few minutes. He excused himself and went outside the hospital. The crisp night air helped clear his head a bit. Still, he pulled out his flask with shaky hands and took one gulp of the whiskey. He had to force the flask back into his jacket, despite the urge to drink it whole. He couldn't. Even though everything in him screamed for some relief... he couldn't abandon Charlie like that.

Gritting his teeth, Blake squared his shoulders and walked back to the room, to the beeping of the machine and the whooshing of the ventilator. He dutifully took hold of Charlie's hand and resumed counting. If he counted there was no place for recriminations, no place for the darkness.

The sun was coming up and Blake's eyes were closed. He wasn't asleep, the chair was too uncomfortable for that. But he was dozing, Barnaby's smirk flashing in front of his eyes.

When his hand twitched, he thought it was just a reaction.

Blake blinked, coming awake. With a groan he sat up straight, cringing at the noise his bones made at the move.

There was another twitch and Blake froze.

He was sure now. The movement didn't come from him.

It came from Charlie.

He waited with bathed breath, his left hand giving a slight squeeze to the clammy palm. He waited.

The responding twitch was like a wave of light.

There was no mistake.

Charlie was waking up.

* * *

Charlie wished he could open his eyes. Maybe that way he could at least keep track of time based on the light or the movement around. He couldn't though and when he thought about the horrible burning feeling in his eyes when they were open without blinking, he assumed this was for the best.

It still didn't stop him from trying to open them. To flex his fingers. To fight the blasted machine that was pushing air into his lungs, causing the unrelenting pain. Oh God, how he wished for some painkillers or the sweet unconsciousness. Anything to stop this agony.

The only relief he got however was the occasional word from Blake. A gentle hand of a nurse running down his cheek. Or the gruff voice of his commanding officer that stopped by sometime during the night. Charlie assumed it was night at least. Everyone around was talking in hushed tones and there was a moment he thought he heard a familiar snore.

How he wished he could join Blake in his slumber. But whatever that damned man injected him with was torture that didn't let him sleep. Charlie cursed the moment he left his car. Even more so that he didn't manage to protect himself from the man. Barnaby wasn't that young after all. He should've overpowered him... the problem was, Charlie was taken by surprise. And once the needle pierced his skin... the effects were almost instantaneous. The only satisfaction he had was in the fact he actually saw Barnaby end his life. The man wouldn't hurt anyone else.

Of course, that was little consolation for his current situation. Charlie thought it was horrible to be trapped in small spaces. He never even imagined though that he could be trapped inside his own body. It felt like a betrayal. It just didn't seem real, but if it was a dream, Charlie wanted to wake up. Right now.

As time passed, ever so slowly, Charlie found some reprieve in Blake's presence. In the occasional soft spoken word that brought hope despite the hopelessness of the situation. Charlie felt Blake's hand enveloping his own and the warmth of the skin felt nice. The occasional twitch of the fingers, the light squeeze now and then.

Charlie even imagined he could sometimes feel Blake's own pulse through the touch, but that might've been just his imagination. Unbeknownst to him, he started copying Blake. His focus on the sound of the machine which he supposed was counting his heart beat. Charlie counted and prayed. If he focused, he could feel each beat resonate inside his chest, adding just a tiny bit of pain to the mix. But he didn't mind that. It was a sign he was still alive at least. And each beep gave him reassurance that Blake and the others around knew he was alive too.

Charlie wasn't sure how much time had passed before the counting changed. At first it was just an occasional random beep that came sooner than expected. Charlie wasn't even sure if he hadn't just miscounted. But the intervals became shorter... and Charlie started to fight. Fight the machine, fight for every new heart beat to be stronger.

It seemed to work.

Blake's hand in his became slack and Charlie could hear soft snores indicating the Doc was asleep. Although there was an occasional twitch of the fingers, Charlie knew the Doc wasn't keeping attention. He still tried though.

With each heartbeat, Charlie willed his fingers to move. There was a strange tingling at his fingertips that started a short while ago and Charlie's hopes rose. It felt as if his body might have been awakening. At least he hoped it was a good sign and not something sinister. He wasn't sure he could take much more.

_Come on, Charlie. Focus._

There. He could feel the tingling changing into pins and needles on his right forefinger.

The feeling was uncomfortable, but at the same time it took his focus away from his broken ribs. He focused everything on that sensation, imagining himself moving that finger.

A nurse stopped by, checking all the leads he was attached to. She brushed the hair off his forehead and Charlie wanted to scream, because he felt something tickle the tip of his nose. His focus had turned there until Blake twitched in his sleep and Charlie was reminded of the hand on his.

_Right. Back on track._

Charlie wished he could take a breath on his own. He wanted to sigh, to show his frustration. Just... take back control. _Any _control.

The tip of his finger moved.

Charlie froze.

Well, he didn't really. He was already frozen. But he willed all the sounds around him to cease, to hear or sense Blake's reaction.

The Doc was still asleep.

Charlie cursed.

It took him few more minutes, but he was sure he managed to move his finger a few millimetres. Or at least twitch it a bit.

The hand on his tensed and the snoring came to a sudden halt.

_Yes! Wake up, Doc. Please!_

Focusing more than ever, Charlie willed his finger to move for the third time, giving it all his might.

_There. He must've felt it!_

Blake let out a breath and Charlie could feel a squeeze of his hand.

"Charlie?" the voice spoke, half in hope, half in disbelief.

Charlie wished he could answer. The only thing he could do however was to twitch his finger.

"That's my boy!" Blake spoke and the excitement in his voice felt misplaced, as if Charlie had climbed the Mount Everest, instead of moving a digit. Yet at the same time, for Charlie it felt as a monumental feat.

"Can you hear me, Charlie? If so, move your finger again," Blake asked and Charlie wished he could let out a frustrated sigh. He hasn't really thought it through, but now he realised that he will most likely become to focus of attention.

He forced his finger to twitch again.

Blake seemed to be happy with that for a moment and Charlie thought maybe that would be it. They could work out some communication system... or maybe he could finally get something for the pain.

But no.

The finger was a sign he was waking up, which meant that Blake and probably a few other people around expected Charlie to do more. Blake kept asking him to try to move some other body part as well. Charlie couldn't.

He felt fingers prying his eyes open, shining a torch into sensitive irises. He felt his eyes tear up a bit, but he couldn't look away, couldn't blink or close his eyelids. Not yet.

Blake at least seemed to realise that.

"I'm sorry, Charlie," he muttered and a bit later Charlie felt his eyes being opened again, the eye drops bringing some relief from the sting. He wasn't sure if the moisture running down his cheek were tears or just the eye drops, but he was thankful when Blake silently wiped them away.

Someone - Charlie thought it must've been nurse Gladys - stopped by and took his vitals.

"His heart beat is seeming to pick up," she commented softly.

"Yes. Pupils are reacting to light as well," Blake said, seemingly satisfied.

Well, Charlie was happy at least something was going his way, but he still wasn't able to move properly. He still wasn't breathing on his own... and he was still in a fair amount of pain.

And while Blake's hands were close by, one holding his wrist reverently, probably counting his pulse just for the heck of it, they weren't touching Charlie's hand. The only way of communication he had.

Charlie felt his frustration grow, even though it was ridiculous. He should be happy. He accomplished _something _at least. But did it mean he was getting better? Would he return to normal? Or was a twitch of a finger all he would ever be capable of doing?

The thought of being stuck in this state forever suddenly overwhelmed him, sending terror through his heart.

Was this Barnaby's plan?

No, the man told him he would wind up dead on the autopsy table. Not imprisoned in his own body. Blake wouldn't allow it, Charlie was sure.

But could Blake even do something about it? As far as Charlie knew, Blake wasn't any wiser about what was going on. There was no talk about an antitoxin, no reassuring words from Blake about taking it easy, that it's just a matter of time. That everything would be back to normal before he knows it.

Those words were suspiciously missing, which told Charlie more than Blake's constant presence.

The man didn't know.

Blake was a man of many things, but Charlie knew that he didn't give false promises. Not if he could help it. No, Charlie could still remember the stark rage in the man's eyes when he thought Charlie helped Munro stop his letters to China. When he thought Charlie had a hand in Blake breaking the promise to his daughter.

Charlie haven't realised, but his heart rate had picked up. If nothing else, his heart was reacting to his turbulent emotions.

"Hey, hey, it's alright, Charlie," Blake's voice broke through his fear and Charlie felt the familiar hand slip into his, giving a slight squeeze. Charlie squeezed back with all his might, wishing to grasp the hand and not letting it go.

Two of his fingers twitched.

"That's my boy," Blake said proudly. "You are coming back to us. Just keep trying. I'm here."

Charlie repeated the motion, the feeling of pinpricks in his fingers spreading further up his hand and wrist.

Through Blake's coaxing and a lot of patience... really, Charlie had a feeling that a whole hour had passed since his first twitch, he finally managed to will his two fingers to move with less effort.

"Good job," Blake praised him when he repeated the requested move for the third time, with increasing strength.

Charlie wished he could roll his eyes.

It was hardly the accomplishment of the year, even though it left him feeling as if he had run a five mile run.

"Do you know the Morse code, Charlie?" Blake's question caught him by surprise. For a second, Charlie hesitated. As a child, he would have said yes without a second thought. When he was ten, he remembered learning the Morse so he could communicate with their next door neighbour Lennie. They were living in a cheap flat then, in an apartment building with thin walls. Charlie discovered early on that the wall his bed was standing next to was the wall of his neighbours son's room. Seeing as they were good friends at the time, the idea of being able to talk through the wall during the night seemed exciting. So they both learned the Morse code and spent happily knocking on the wall until Lennie's father finally figured out where all the noise was coming from.

Charlie still cringed at the memory of poor Lennie unable to sit down properly for the next week. Seeing as the man then came complaining to Charlie's own dad, Charlie thought he got away pretty easy. All he got was a lecture... and his bed being moved to the other side of the room. Ray's bed was put in his place though and the nightly chats had ended.

That was almost twenty years ago and Charlie haven't used the Morse since.

His silence - or rather lack of reaction - must've been enough of an answer to Blake.

"Never mind. That might be a bit too complicated in your current state anyway. Let's stick with the good old one tap for no, two taps for yes. Do you agree?"

Charlie's fingers twitched twice.

Of course he did. He would do anything Blake asked of him, as long as there was some communication between them.

"Wonderful," Blake said and Charlie felt a hand rest on his shoulder. Blake fell silent for a moment, clearly thinking through what he wanted to ask. Charlie hoped he would ask the right question.

"Do you know what happened to you?"

Charlie paused. That was a tricky one. He remembered the attack and what was going on since, but if he should be truthful, he was hazy on important details. Like _why _him, and _what _the hell was he injected with.

"Charlie?" Blake asked, hesitantly.

Charlie's fingers twitched twice.

Blake took in a shallow breath.

"How-" he didn't finish. Charlie wondered just what was going through the man's head. Did he realize what his answer really meant? Would he figure out that Charlie was awake this whole damn time? Would he _ask?_

Blake didn't.

Charlie could feel the hand on his shaking just a bit and Blake cleared his throat.

"Can you... can you try and move your fingers on the other hand?"

Charlie felt Blake's hands clutch both of his and so he tried. But it didn't work. While he could feel his left hand, it was still numb. No pins and needles.

He had to admit defeat and twitched the fingers of his right hand once for no.

"That's quite alright," Blake soothed. "That's the side you were injected in. I'd assume your left side will stay numb longer than the right one.

Charlie wanted to scoff. Not lastly because he was left handed and he worried about permanent damage. Though he perked up at Blake's phrasing. It sounded like the man was getting confident about Charlie regaining control over his body.

Blake kept asking basic questions for a while, trying to ascertain the range of feelings Charlie could sense.

Charlie tried to answer all truthfully, but he was becoming frustrated. Blake seemed to be purposefully ignoring the most important question of the moment.

When Charlie was asked to try and move the toe on his right foot, he had enough. He twitched his fingers not once or twice... but four times. And he swore if Blake didn't get the hint, he would keep twitching them with abandon.

The sudden change in the pattern seemed to startle Blake.

"What's wrong?" he asked, voice on high alert, the testing of Charlie's movement momentarily forgotten. "Charlie?"

Charlie's fingers twitched three more times and he could swear he put more strength into it than ever before.

"Are you in pain?"

Finally!

Two angry twitches. A pause. Then repeat, just to drive the point in.

Blake's hand squeezed his in reply.

"I'm sorry," he muttered. "Can you... can you specify?"

Charlie wanted to growl. How the hell should he do that?

Blake seemed to realize his mistake.

"Stop me when I get to it, alright?"

Two twitches.

Blake started listing body parts.

Charlie kept saying no. It was obvious, at least to him, that Blake was somehow putting off what was abundantly clear. When Charlie's fingers gave a twitch before Blake could come up with anything else, the Doctor let out a sigh.

"I know, Charlie. It's... I broke a few of your ribs when... well. We tried to keep you alive. I'm sorry."

Charlie wasn't sure what to do. He knew all of this, hell, he was awake the whole time and didn't fancy the memories. But how could he communicate to Blake that it was alright? That he really wasn't blaming him?

Most importantly, how could he let him know with the limited communication that all he wanted right now were some pain killers?

"Charlie?" Blake spoke, somehow sheepishly and Charlie wanted to groan. He never heard the Doc to be sheepish about something.

Charlie's fingers twitched several times.

He didn't know what else to do.

Blake seemed to understand that at least.

"I'm sorry," he said and this time Charlie knew it wasn't an apology for what happened, but rather for what won't, at least not anytime soon.

"I know it hurts right now. And trust me, I would love nothing better than to take away the pain. But..."

Blake squeezed Charlie's hand and ran his fingers through Charlie's hair in a soothing manner.

"I can't give you anything right now. Not until the toxin is out of your body."

Charlie had already surmised as much. But that didn't make hearing it any easier. His fingers twitched involuntarily.

"Do you... do you understand, Charlie?"

Two twitches. Yes. He did.

"Is there anything else I can do? Anything you want to know right now?"

There were many things Charlie wanted to know. Like... how long will this paralysis last. Will it all go away? Would there be any lasting effects? And why the hell did Jones target him, out of all people?

But he couldn't really communicate any of those questions and in the grand scheme of things... Charlie knew that even if they worked out a better system and he got through to Blake, the man didn't have answers. The best he could do would probably be an "I don't know" and "We have to wait and see". Charlie didn't need to hear that right now.

His fingers twitched once.

Even through closed eyes, he could sense Blake's relief.

What now then?

For some reason, Charlie expected the man to leave. He wasn't sure why. Just... the tone of his voice, the palpable guilt.

Charlie didn't understand that, but he was aware that Blake didn't handle guilt well. And he knew that the most likely thing he would do was run.

But the doctor gave a gentle pat to Charlie's cheek as he settled back down in his chair. The hand never leaving Charlie's own.

They settled back into silence, the only distraction the whooshing of the ventilator and the beeping of the machine counting Charlie's heartbeat. The time in-between was shortening and Charlie could at least find relief in that. The tingling had moved from his wrist up to his elbow now and he was sure if he really tried he might even move his pinkie.

He didn't though. He felt spent and all his focus returned to the pain in his chest. The relentless pain.

"Try to get some sleep now, Charlie."

Oh, how he wished he could. Right now though, sleep seemed to be the last thing his body and mind would allow. It was almost as if the toxin kept him awake... just another part of Barnaby's sick plan.

Charlie's finger twitched once.

"You don't want to sleep?" Blake asked thoughtfully.

Charlie didn't react.

"Or you can't?"

Charlie's fingers twitched twice.

Blake sighed and it was clear he wanted to utter another apology, but stopped himself.

"Would it help if I read something to you?"

Two twitches.

"Alright. Jean had brought me some magazines, maybe those will be a compelling read."

Charlie thought he detected a bit of humour in his tone. When Blake started reading he realized why. Jean probably grabbed the first magazine that lay on her desk, which happened to be a Women's Weekly.

"Oh well. Looks like we will learn something about home improvements and the latest recipe for potato salad."

After several minutes of listening to Blake's low voice Charlie could almost feel himself falling into light slumber. By the time Blake finished with the first issue, Charlie had finally fallen asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: medical procedures

He was choking. There was something blocking his throat, something stopping the air from coming in properly. It hurt and he couldn't breathe and his whole body felt like pins and needles!

Charlie flailed on the bed, his hands coming up towards his mouth.

He felt a tube, something plastic and unnatural that was attached to him.

He had to get it out, before he ran out of air!

What was going on?

Why was he in pain and why wasn't anyone helping him?

There was noise all around. An alarm was going off, angrily screeching into his ears. A woman called out and suddenly there were hands all over him. Pushing him down into the stifling mattress... pulling at his wrists.

Charlie tried to fight them, but his hands barely listened to him. His whole body felt like lead and every movement felt like stepping on a hedgehog. He moaned but that was just another form of hell.

Why was he hurting so much?

And why couldn't he breathe?

"Charlie, it's okay! You're alright, just stop fighting!"

It was Blake.

Charlie focused on the voice. Where was he? Why was it so dark?

"I'm here, Charlie. Just calm down. It's alright, you have air."

Charlie frowned. He didn't feel okay. And yes, maybe there was air, he could feel his lungs expanding, but there was something blocking his throat. How could Blake not know this?

He felt hands on his face.

"Open your eyes, Charlie. Look at me, please."

Charlie felt startled. He didn't realize his eyes were closed. Or that he could open them. There was something nagging in the back of his mind... a worry that if he opened his eyes he wouldn't be able to close them. But... Blake was there. He wouldn't let anything bad happen to him.

With some struggle Charlie opened his eyes and stared right into a pair of familiar blue ones.

"That's it... that's my boy." Despite the obvious weariness, Blake smiled encouragingly.

Charlie's eyes burned and his vision was blurry with a sudden onset of tears. He wasn't crying, he was too confused for that. His eyes were irritated and he felt an urge to rub at them.

But his hands were held down by something and Charlie's panic returned. He couldn't move... he was awake, he was in pain, but he couldn't move!

_Blake was leaning down over him and there were hands on his chest and something inside broke and..._

No. That wasn't now.

Blake was leaning over him, but both his hands were on Charlie's face.

And he was in pain, but no one was crushing his chest.

He couldn't move his arms... because they were strapped down... not because he couldn't feel them.

After all, his eyes were open. And when he uttered a groan, he could hear it.

"I know it's uncomfortable, but I need you to try and relax."

Charlie's eyes opened wide in disbelief.

Was Blake serious?

"Charlie, listen to me. The machine is breathing for you."

Blake waited until Charlie blinked that he understood.

"Good. Now stop fighting it and we will take out the tube."

Charlie wished it would be so easy. But as his body was awakening from the forced slumber, it was coming back with a fight. His nerve endings felt like on fire and his chest... his chest was a mess. He couldn't really relax even if he wanted to... and right now, he didn't.

But Blake was there, his eyes pleading with him and Charlie was starting to feel the effects of trying to fight the machine. His lungs were seizing, the air forced in along with his attempts to breathe on his own just making the pain worse.

Charlie shut his eyes tight and gave a feeble nod of acquiescence. He let his arms lie flat on the bed instead of tugging against the straps.

Blake's hands gently patted his cheeks.

"That's it. Won't take but a minute and you'll feel better, Charlie," he said softly. Charlie wished that was true.

He felt the bed dip as Blake stepped back and Charlie's eyes opened in new panic. Was the man leaving?

"It's alright, I'm here," Blake said, then turned towards the nurse awaiting his orders. "Gladys, please, get me the extubation kit. And make sure we have an oxygen mask ready."

The nurse nodded and went off, leaving Charlie and Blake alone for the moment. Charlie was blinking furiously, willing his eyes to stop watering. He tried to look around but everything was a bit blurry and the machines around just plain scared him. Blake was there however, one hand still grasping Charlie's arm in support.

"It'll be alright, Charlie. Hang in there and try to focus on something else for the moment."

'Like what?' Charlie wanted to ask, a frown marring his face.

"You'll be out of here before you know it," Blake said as if reading his thoughts. "I think Jean is already planning a welcome home party for you. Last time Matthew called he said she was baking up a storm, so at the least there will be tons of cookies."

Charlie moaned. He wasn't sure he wanted to think about food at the moment. Or a party. Even though the idea of going home was something to look forward to.

Gladys had returned more quickly than Charlie anticipated. Although he wanted the tube out of his throat, he was dreading the procedure. Seeing how Blake was getting ready just made him more nervous. He decided that closing his eyes might be the best choice.

"Alright, Charlie. I won't lie, this will be a bit uncomfortable. But it will be over quick."

Charlie opened his eyes. He wanted more time to get ready... for whatever was to come. But he could see the weariness in Blake's eyes. The silent apology written in every move, every touch.

He felt the whoosh of the machine force another breath into him, without his consent.

Charlie nodded.

"I'll need you to try and cough when I say, alright?"

Charlie didn't want to. Just the idea of coughing with those ribs...

"I know, I know. It'll be over soon," Blake soothed.

Charlie closed his eyes once again. He didn't want to see what was going on anymore. Maybe counting would help. All he needed was to count to ten. Then start over. Sooner or later this would be done.

The procedure was hell. Charlie felt like gagging several times and his breathing was anything but relaxed. By the time Blake said cough, Charlie just wanted it to stop.

He coughed and the tube slid out. Charlie almost followed it on instinct to double over as his body gasped for air and tensed at the pain.

"Shh, it's alright. It's over. You did so well, Charlie. It's over," Blake repeated over and over, one hand rubbing Charlie's shoulder soothingly, at the same time keeping him flush against the pillow, while the nurse was strapping the oxygen mask to his face.

Charlie wanted to gulp down the air, but all he could manage were shallow breaths in fear of making the pain of his broken ribs worse. He was dismayed to feel that his jaw hurt too, from being kept open by the tube. Charlie grimaced, then groaned.

His throat felt as if it was on fire. Raw and painful. But he could finally breathe. He could finally control his body... from the eyes to the bottom of his feet, as he found out when he tried to move his toes and saw the blanket move.

Something cold had touched his chest and Charlie looked down. Blake was listening to his breathing with a stethoscope, but what made Charlie froze was the mottled flesh. Blue and dark purple bruises, looking more stark on the pale flesh that wasn't covered up by a shirt. Blake noted his startled look and the wrinkles around his eyes deepened. He straightened and cleared his throat.

"You'll have to try and take some deep breaths every now and then, Charlie," he said when he pulled the blanket up to cover his chest, as if to hide the evidence.

Charlie swallowed. He wanted to speak, but his mouth still felt a bit numb, his tongue too big and uncoordinated. He tried running it over his chapped lips and realised how thirsty he was.

"W-water?" he croaked out and cringed. The word sounded strange to his own ears and he wasn't sure Blake even heard him.

"Of course. Only a few sips though," Blake said as he pulled down the mask and put a glass with tepid water against Charlie's lips.

Charlie took a few sips, acutely aware that Blake had to hold the cup because his hands were still strapped to the bed. Once the glass was taken away and the mask back on his face, Charlie looked down at his wrists and moved them a bit.

"Can... can you..."

"Oh... sorry. Of course. We put them on only when you tried to pull the tube out," Blake explained even as he was undoing the straps.

Charlie didn't much care. He just wanted the freedom of motion. Anything holding him down was a reminder of being stuck inside his own body. He shuddered.

"Are you cold?"

Blake's hand went up to his forehead, checking for fever.

Charlie shook his head, reaching up as if to push Blake's hand away. But his energy was lacking and Blake had already moved anyway. Instead, he let his arm curl protectively around his aching ribs, knees coming up a bit to relieve some of the discomfort.

Charlie didn't ask for a pain reliever. He knew already that it was useless and he was sure Blake wouldn't be trying to withhold anything unless it was necessary.

"We will-" Blake paused, then cleared his throat. Charlie looked at him through hooded eyes. "As soon as the blood sample shows the toxin is out, we can give you something for the pain."

Charlie nodded, expecting as much.

"I'm sorry I can't help right now," Blake said in a low, regretful tone.

Charlie hated it.

None of this was Blake's fault, not in Charlie's mind. The man had nothing to feel guilty about. But judging by the look on his face that would take some convincing to do. Charlie didn't have energy for that right now.

"'s okay Doc," he muttered through the mask and slowly turned on his side, trying to find a more comfortable position. He couldn't really find one, so he just lay on his back, accepting that he will be uncomfortable. It still beat being dead or unable to move.

Blake looked like he was ready to bolt. He ran a hand nervously over his hair and turned towards the door, but instead of walking out, he settled back down in the chair.

Charlie wanted to tell him he should go. He also didn't want him to leave. Charlie knew it was selfish... that the Doc had spent enough hours by his side sitting in that uncomfortable chair. But if the alternative was to stay alone surrounded by machines and other sick or dying people, Charlie wanted to be selfish. Just this once. It beat suffering the pain alone.

So he stayed silent, looking at the ceiling and waiting for Blake to do something. Anything.

"Your mom is on the way," Blake said after few minutes of silence and Charlie startled.

Of course. He knew someone would call her, but he didn't want her to see him in this state.

"She shouldn't," he whispered and Blake sighed.

"She is your mother. Of course she should."

Charlie grunted. It was no sense in arguing. If Shirley Davis was on her way, there was no one to stop her. Not even Blake or Lawson. Especially not those two.

"She won't arrive sooner than an hour or two. Maybe try to get some sleep?"

Charlie nodded and closed his eyes. He tried to fall asleep, but his mind was all over the place. Mostly focused on the pain and the events of the last day. He didn't want that. He would have preferred anything else.

"Doc?"

"Yes Charlie?"

"Can you..." Charlie paused to take a shallow breath. "Keep reading?"

Blake chuckled.

"Are you sure? I think the other magazines Jean brought are all about crocheting."

Charlie only hummed his assent.

"Very well then. Let's see the latest trend in... cross stitch," Blake read and settled back in his chair. Charlie let his voice lull him into fitful sleep.

* * *

When he next woke up it was to the presence of his mother. He could've sworn he saw the shadow of the familiar figure leaving the room he was in, but he wasn't paying that much attention. It was clear some good soul let Shirley Davis know exactly how close Charlie came to dying.

"I'm fine, mum," he muttered, wincing as she hugged him. His body felt a bit different. There was numbness, but it was far from the terrifying loss of control. No, this was the other kind of numbness, one that chased away the pain. Finally he got some painkillers.

"Oh Charlie," his mom shook her head, teary eyed and Charlie made an attempt at looking at least partially alive. He put on a fake smile and sat up a bit, trying unsuccessfully to hide his wince as a pain shot through his chest. Painkillers weren't omnipotent after all... or he had gotten the less potent ones.

Settling back down, he let his mother fuss for a while. One part of him hated it... hated to see the worry in her eyes, hated to be laid up and appear so weak, so vulnerable. His father instilled in him that a Davis should look strong, should be able to take care of his family under all circumstances.

But his dad wasn't here and right now Charlie couldn't really hide the state he was in. And if he was honest with himself, the fussing also felt good. For once his mother was there just for him. For once it wasn't about his younger brothers, about having to provide. She was just happy he was alive and Charlie felt her love envelop him as a warm blanket.

So he let her rant over what happened at first, let her show the worry and fear.

"It's okay now, mum," he said, reaching out to her and grasping her flailing hand when she started asking questions he didn't have answers for yet. Like why the man attacked Charlie. Or where he came from. "It's over. How... how are the boys?"

He deflected.

Of course his mom saw through that. He was never that good at poker and he was sure the pain meds couldn't hide the weariness he felt.

She gave him the look, the one that said she knew what he was doing.

But he must've looked miserable enough that she relented. With a sigh, she clutched his hand and gave it a squeeze, then proceeded to tell him about Mikey's latest pursuit of a girlfriend.

When Charlie had to fight back a laughter he almost regretted asking.

The visit didn't last long but Charlie was still winded by the end of it. Breathing, even with the painkillers wasn't fun and Charlie was afraid that the following days won't be any better. He actually dreaded the thought of trying to move around, but the nurse told him it was on the schedule later that day, if he wanted to get home anytime soon.

When Charlie yawned mid sentence - a rather short sentence at that - his mom decided it was time to let him rest.

"I'm staying at the hotel for the next day or two," she said and Charlie didn't even try to convince her to return home. He knew this scare was a bit too close and she wouldn't be leaving town until she saw him up out of the hospital, up on his feet.

"Rest up, dear. I'll let the boys know you were asking after them. Maybe you can come home for a few days after they release you from the hospital."

Charlie gave a feeble nod.

"I'd love that, mum," he said, even though he knew it most likely won't be for more than a day or two. He wasn't sure how long he could stand to be in the company of his new step father. Or how long it would take for him and Ray to get into a fight.

Shirley left and Charlie endured something that might've been called breakfast. Or lunch. He wasn't sure about the time and the consistency of the food was rather questionable. The taste didn't clue him in any more. It felt too bland and Charlie wondered if it was really the food or if some parts of him, like taste buds maybe, were still numbed by the effects of the toxin.

He wanted to ask, but... Blake was gone and he doubted the nurse would appreciate his criticism of food. So he silently ate a few spoonfuls, then pushed away the tray. Sleep still seemed like the best solution.

The day passed in a haze. He was woken up a bit later by an unfamiliar doctor who seemed rather interested in seeing him move. The nurse had whispered to his questioning look that it was the local neurologist specialist. Obviously, the man was taken by the case of a drug that could cause such death like symptoms yet result in complete recovery. At least Charlie hoped it would be complete. Any question he asked the doctor was met with a shrug of a shoulder and a "We will see" reply, while the man tested Charlie's reflexes with a glint in his eyes.

By the time he was finished, Charlie was just about fed up. If he was asked once more to move a finger, he was pretty sure it would be the middle one and the doctor wouldn't appreciate it.

Finally he was cleared up to be well enough to be moved to a room that had an actual door and which wasn't under 24 hour surveillance. If breathing wasn't so uncomfortable Charlie would've burst out in a song at the idea of some privacy.

It was early afternoon and he was still trying to find a comfortable position on the bed in his new room, when Lawson walked in, accompanied by Alice.

Charlie felt his cheeks turn red. He remembered clearly that both Lawson and Alice kept breathing for him. And while it was foolish to be embarrassed by such thing, especially as it had saved his life, he still couldn't help the blush.

"My, you look much better today, Sergeant Davis," Alice spoke first and she smiled at him.

"Uh... thanks," Charlie said and pulled himself up into a sitting position, one arm curled around his ribs protectively.

"A pillow against your chest might actually help ease the discomfort," Alice suggested and Charlie blinked. He took hold of the pillow he had resting under his arm till now and hugged it close, even though it felt silly. Surprisingly though, when he tried to sit up straighter with the pillow in front, it did indeed help.

"Oh," he said, then looked at Alice. " Thank you."

She nodded, then cleared her throat. The room fell into silence. It was Lawson who broke it, although he didn't seem all that sure how to lead the conversation. Charlie had a fleeting thought that perhaps they thought he would still be asleep or something.

"So... are you feeling better?"

Charlie thought about it, then gave a nod.

"Yeah. Still sore, but... better than yesterday," he muttered. Anything was better than being locked inside his own body he supposed. On that note, there was something he needed to say.

"Uh, Boss? Dr. Harvey?"

He waited for their questioning gazes to settle on him.

"I wanted to say ... thank you. For... for keeping me alive. Yesterday." Just the thought of it made his cheeks feel warmer.

Lawson on the other hand seemed startled.

"Wait. How do you know?"

Charlie blinked.

There was no way in hell he was going to admit he was actually up when his boss was giving him mouth to mouth. Or Alice. Hell, the woman barely touched anyone living.

"Uh... Blake told me," Charlie fibbed, trying for an innocent look.

Lawson seemed to realize that was the most likely source anyway as he nodded. Alice though... she gave Charlie a studying look. Charlie felt as if she knew he was lying. And maybe she did... after all she seemed to be more knowledgeable than others about deathly states.

But even if she suspected something, she didn't speak up. She only gave a nod of acknowledgment and a soft "You're welcome."

"So," Lawson cleared his throat. "Do you remember what happened?"

Charlie frowned a bit, unsure how to answer that question.

"You mean... before... before you arrived?"

"Well, certainly not after," Lawson rolled his eyes. Alice just raised an eyebrow and Charlie knew he had perhaps given away more than he wanted. But she wouldn't ask either, not in front of Lawson, he was sure of it.

"I've got a call about domestic disturbance. It... the caller was a woman though. She said she was hearing some strange sounds... from the apartment next door." Charlie had to pause a few times mid sentence to take in some breath. He still didn't get all the good drugs so even shallow breathing was a chore. Long monologues definitely weren't in his plan.

Lawson pulled out a notebook and scribbled something down.

"We haven't found any neighbours present when we arrived," he noted. Charlie wasn't surprised.

"He could've ... asked someone to call," he said. Lawson nodded.

"Can you tell us what happened when you arrived?"

Charlie took a breath and recounted what seemed to be the longest time at the moment but what went down in less than fifteen minutes. At least well... that's what he thought. He somehow didn't take into account how long he was out when Jones clocked him on the head.

"Did he tell you anything before he injected you?" Alice asked and Charlie could've sworn he saw her curiosity peak. What was she even doing there? And what was he supposed to say?

"He just... taunted me," he shook his head, hoping to get Barnaby's words and everything they brought up out of his head. "He wanted the Doc to suffer. I.. .I don't know why he picked me," Charlie looked up questioningly.

Lawson grimaced.

"The man was crazy," he muttered under his breath.

"So he didn't mention what was in the syringe?" Alice was like a bulldog.

Charlie shook his head.

"No," he said. "I didn't even know, until... until I felt it and then..." Charlie swallowed and closed his eyes for a second. No, he was not going that way. Even though one look at Alice told him she wanted to ask. But Charlie was done with the interview. It was time he got some answers as well.

"Why... why were you there, Dr. Harvey?" he asked and hoped it didn't sound accusatory. He was thankful Alice was around when all things went to hell, but he still wasn't sure what brought her tagging along.

"Ah, that would be Blake's fault actually," Lawson spoke up and Charlie focused on him instead.

"Huh?"

"He wanted to stop by the morgue to ask about some details about the autopsy of Jones's last victim. We found out Mr. Cadman had actually served in Singapore and had previously met Jones. Blake thought he must've recognized the man and that was the reason Jones killed him. Either that or Jones was holding some kind of grudge against Cadman as well." Lawson shrugged, as if now it didn't matter anyway. "Since you were supposed to be off duty by that time, I accompanied Blake to the morgue."

Of course. Ever since Blake got the first threatening letter from Jones either Charlie or Lawson shadowed him wherever they could. This time it was Lawson on Blake duty, as Charlie dubbed it.

"Simmons called me at the morgue, knowing we were headed there. There was a call at the station..." Lawson paused, clearly thinking over his words. Dr. Harvey had used the time to grab Charlie's chart and peruse it with some interest. Charlie was too distracted by Lawson's behaviour to protest the breech of privacy. After all, with her involvement in his rescue, she probably knew more about his case than him.

"Boss?" Charlie pressed, now curious. He pretty much drew a blank after he arrived at the scene and didn't have a clue how did Blake and the rest manage to arrive so soon. It shouldn't have been possible. But then... Jones quite possibly alerted them before Charlie even knocked on his door.

"The caller at the station gave an address to Simmons, then told him to alert Dr. Blake that his services will be needed. And to bring a body bag."

"Oh," Charlie paled a bit. "But... why did you go? I mean... it could've been... a trap?"

Lawson nodded.

"Of course it was a trap. I was not planning on bringing Blake with me."

Charlie raised a questioning eyebrow, because he knew how that worked out. And it still didn't explain Dr. Harvey's presence.

Lawson rolled his eyes.

"If you recall, you gave Simmons the address of your last call before you headed out. He put two and two together rather quickly, as did we."

Charlie grimaced. Well, that explained Blake's presence. The man was like a bulldog if he got something stuck in his head. Charlie knew Lawson would've had trouble keeping Blake back under normal circumstances... but having someone else threatened? Nope. Not a pair of bulls could hold the man back. While he normally didn't tend to appreciate that stubbornness, at the moment he was more than thankful for it. It saved his life.

"But... what about Dr. Harvey?" Charlie asked with a frown.

Hearing her name, she looked up from the chart, putting it back where it belonged and stepping closer to Charlie's bed.

"Well... I couldn't leave you boys to all the fun now, could I?" she teased and Charlie wasn't sure how to answer. He just looked at Lawson, as if waiting for a better explanation.

Lawson shrugged, as if to say what could I do? They double teamed me.

"But... you're a civilian?" Charlie said a bit befuddled.

Alice raised an eyebrow.

"That doesn't seem to stop Jean or Rose from joining in on your adventures."

Charlie shut his mouth. He really didn't feel like arguing the point, she was right after all.

Alice though seemed to take pity on him.

"After what we found on the body on my autopsy table, I had a feeling Dr. Blake could use my help."

"To be fair, she was supposed to wait in the car," Lawson frowned at her. Dr. Harvey ignored him.

"What... what did you... find?" Charlie asked, catching the note. While he was happy to have some company, his discomfort level was raising by the minute. The last thing he wanted was to start moaning from pain in front of his boss and Dr. Harvey. Best to get all the possible information as quickly as possible, before his pain tolerance reached its limit.

Lawson and Harvey exchanged a look.

"I found an injection site on the back of Mr. Cadman's neck. The toxicology also showed some... disconcerting abnormalities. And... my findings regarding the time of death didn't fit with the original time of death assumed at the scene."

Charlie swallowed, knowing what that meant.

"Was... was he... " he had to pause, unsure how to proceed with the question. Thankfully, Dr. Harvey seemed to grasp his intent.

"When did he die?"

Charlie just nodded.

"According to rigor mortis and other indicators... he died maybe two hours after the discovery of the body."

Charlie nodded again, his eyes wide as only one thought flashed through his mind.

"Was he still alive? When you did the-" Charlie couldn't finish it.

"No. Unfortunately I had other work to finish and I didn't get to him in time."

Charlie wasn't sure if it was good or bad. Maybe Dr. Harvey could've noticed the man was still alive... but then, maybe she wouldn't have. Not before doing a few cuts first.

Charlie could imagine quite well the fear the poor chap must've experienced. Suddenly he didn't want to know more. He wished Lawson and Harvey were gone already, so that he could just let some of his emotions out without the need to appear unbothered by the whole affair.

"Do you feel alright, sergeant Davis?" Dr. Harvey was eyeing him curiously. "Are you experiencing any side effects of the toxin?"

Charlie shook his head.

"No. I... I'm just tired," he said, hoping she would get the hint. Harvey pursed her lips, then she gave a nod.

"Of course. It must've been a tiresome experience. If you could answer just one more question before we let you rest?"

Charlie didn't want to, but his good manners didn't let him just tell Harvey to leave.

"Yeah?"

"Do you remember anything after you were injected? What... what were you feeling?" Dr. Harvey's eyes glinted a bit in excitement. Charlie understood that. She was a doctor, a scientist. She had the same passion for exploring as Blake. But... this was personal. This wasn't just something to describe casually for a short note in a medical journal. This was Charlie and the worst moments of his life. He wasn't drunk or drugged up enough to talk about those.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Harvey. I... I can't..."

Charlie knew he should just be frank and tell her he might share later. That right now it was too much. But he couldn't even admit that something was wrong. And he knew... the moment he admitted to being aware... they wouldn't let go. He would be reminded one way or other... if by nothing else than the looks of pity or curiosity on their faces.

"I don't remember," he said simply, looking at the wall somewhere between Lawson and Harvey. The tone of his voice was dull, but he didn't care. He let some of the pain from his ribs show on his face and cast a pleading look at Lawson.

The man cleared his throat.

"I think we should really let him rest."

Dr. Harvey looked a bit disappointed, but when Charlie faked a yawn, she finally gave up.

"I'm glad you're not dead," Lawson commented dryly.

Charlie wasn't sure whether to laugh or feel offended.

"Uh... thanks, boss," he muttered.

Lawson nodded and patted his blanket covered foot.

"By the way, the doc said you might go home tomorrow. We are having dinner with your mother tonight. So you better behave and get back on your feet quickly. Lord knows neither me or Blake can handle two worried women under one roof for too long."

Charlie's lips twitched in amusement.

"Will do, boss," he said and watched as the two left the room. He waited until the door closed, then let out a shaky gasp, his face scrunching up in a grimace. He couldn't even imagine the following days. Charlie hoped his mother would return home soon enough. Last thing he wanted was for her to find out what exactly happened... and he had a feeling if she stayed long enough he couldn't hide it.

The nightmares...

He truly hoped they wouldn't stick around. With a grunt, Charlie slid down in the bed. A look at his watch lying on the bedside table told him that dinner might be coming soon. He wondered if Jean or the Doc would stop by for a visit. Charlie wasn't sure if he would be more worried or relieved at their absence.

The door stood still for almost an hour, if Charlie didn't count the occasional visit from a nurse. He was finally allowed to have something stronger for the broken ribs than just paracetamol. The pain became dull and Charlie became sleepy and relaxed. When the door opened and in popped a familiar face framed by red hair, Charlie just gave a small wave of his hand and a loopy smile.


	5. Chapter 5

It was an awful long night, followed by a similarly long and tiring day. When it was finally clear that Charlie was out of the woods and he got back the control over his own body, Blake slipped out of the room. He was eternally grateful for the fact that Charlie's mother arrived only after Charlie was taken off the ventilator. He couldn't even imagine how hard it would have been to face her and explain what has happened if she had seen Charlie so utterly helpless.

So Blake gave her a shortened version of the events, with several key facts left out. She didn't much care about the case anyway. All she wanted was to know her son would be alright.

At least Blake could tell her that.

As soon as Shirley's attention was turned towards her son, Blake slipped out of the hospital room. He left some notes at the nurse's desk, wanting to be informed about any changes, then walked out into the warm sunny day.

It seemed too sunny to his sleep deprived mind. He craved coffee. He craved a bed... and possibly a bottle full of finest whiskey. Instead, he knew he needed more information about Barnaby Jones. He needed to speak to Alice about the results of the autopsy... and he needed to go over Barnaby's journal once more. Now that Charlie was getting back to normal, maybe he could figure out which toxin was used. See if there were any side effects they would need to watch out for.

What he wanted most was to take back everything that happened in the last few days and just go home to Jean. But that was wishful thinking and now Blake had to deal with the consequences, just like everyone else involved.

"What have you found out?" Blake asked as he arrived to the morgue. Alice was just leaning down over the microscope, studying a sample. Barnaby Jones was laid out on the table, cut open. Definitely dead.

Blake felt a twitch of satisfaction... as well as regret upon the fact it wasn't him pulling the trigger and shooting Barnaby.

Alice Harvey had looked up, then without a word took a step back and gestured towards the microscope.

Blake took up her spot and leaned over the microscope. It took him a moment to focus his weary eyes on the sample. When he did though, he straightened. Things made a bit more sense now.

"Cancer?"

Alice nodded.

"That sample is from the tumour in the brain. But I have already found several more tumours through the body. Jones didn't have much time left."

"So that's why he decided to act now," Blake nodded, then rubbed at his eyes. God, how he wished for a drink. But he was aware Alice wasn't a big fan and he was worried that one sip from the flask in his jacket pocket wouldn't be enough. Better leave it there.

"Some of the tumours must've been causing serious pain. I'm sure that he was aware this was terminal."

"Yes. I still don't know why he couldn't have just come after me right away. Why play these bloody games and hurt innocent people?"

Alice shrugged.

"The tumour on his brain might have been a cause of paranoia... or changes in behaviour."

Blake shook his head. If he was sure of one thing it was that Barnaby Jones hadn't changed at all. He was still the same vindictive bastard he used to be.

After taking a last good look at what was left of Jones' face, Blake excused himself and headed home. Maybe he could grab a short nap, then read up a bit more in Jones's journal.

When he arrived home, he almost collided with Jean.

"Oh, are you heading out?"

"Lucien! I was just on my way to the hospital. Is Charlie-" she seemed startled, her eyes suddenly going wide. Blake realised he must've been looking worse than he thought. Quickly, he shook his head and reached out with a reassuring hand.

"He's doing fine. Actually... he was already awake and moving when I left."

Well, that one was a bit of an exaggeration, but Blake was sure that by now most of Charlie's motor functions were back to normal.

"Oh Lucien, that's wonderful!" Jean perked up and hugged him with renewed fervour. "Can he have visitors? Or should I stop by a bit later?"

"Shirley had arrived as I was leaving, so maybe give them some time," Blake suggested and Jean nodded.

"Of course. In that case, why don't I make you some coffee and a breakfast? I bet you haven't eaten anything since yesterday's lunch."

"Breakfast," Blake corrected, remembering how busy his lunchtime was, trying to chase after clues. His stomach grumbled in agreement and Jean headed back towards the kitchen.

"Oh, before I forget, there's a letter for you on the desk. It was hand delivered, so it might be important."

Blake frowned. He wasn't really expecting anything. He still had to send out his own replies to Mei-lin and his daughter. And anyone else would surely use a postman to deliver.

"Who is it from?" he asked casually.

"I don't know who sent it... but it was delivered by the Rothman's boy, Timmy. He was babbling something about having to leave with his parents for a week suddenly so he had to deliver now. I didn't really understand him... they should try to correct his lisp. He ran off before I could ask more."

Blake frowned. Why would Timmy bring him a letter? His brain was a bit fuzzy from all the stress and lack of sleep, but his instincts still worked. And right now they were screaming at him that something was wrong.

What if that letter was just one more trick from Jones? What if it was a trap of sorts? Or last words?

Blake didn't know, but he crossed the hall in record speed. He stopped inside his office, right in front of his desk. There it lay. An unassuming, white envelope, with the hand written address to one Dr. Lucien Blake.

Blake reached out but paused. He had a quick flashback to all the toxins mentioned in Barnaby's journal. What if the letter was laced with something?

Then he realized that both Jean and the Rothman's boy had handled it previously.

A shudder ran down his spine and he fought the urge to go and check on Jean. She was alright. He was just being paranoid.

Gritting his teeth, Blake finally took the letter into his hands. He noted they were shaking slightly. Ignoring it, he grabbed a letter opener and cut through the paper. He peered inside first. Just because he was being paranoid didn't mean that there was no threat. However, it seemed like the letter was safe so far. No powder, no sharp razor. Just another paper, folded neatly.

Blake pulled it out and for a second thought himself silly. This was most likely nothing. Either a prank or a letter from a long forgotten acquaintance.

Well, he was right in one point at least.

As soon as Blake saw the familiar handwriting, he let the letter drop from his fingers onto the table.

"Bloody hell," he muttered and made his way over to the cabinet. He pulled out a bottle and a glass and without hesitation poured himself a good dose.

He downed the glass at once, then poured himself a second. Finally, his hands seemed to stop shaking and the warmth in his stomach spread through his body. With familiar apprehension, Blake grabbed the letter from the desk and went to sit down in one of the chairs otherwise used by the patients and visitors.

He took another sip from his glass and started reading.

_Dear Lucien Blake,_

_I hope this letter will reach you in good health and sharp mind._

_At the moment you are reading this, I am most likely dead. Either by yours truly or my own hand, it doesn't matter at all. What matters is, that I won't go down alone._

_If my plan works (and I will make _ _ **sure ** _ _it does), your young friend will be dead by now._

_I feel like I owe you an explanation, 'dearest' friend._

_See... what happened back in Singapore was something I am not particularly proud of. I must admit, collaborating with the Chinese was a low point for me. Just imagine... what all could I have achieved back home in England? But I knew that I would have not survived the ordeal. I was not a soldier after all. I was a _ _ **scientist** _ _._

Blake scoffed at that. Was Barnaby truly trying to excuse his collaboration with Chinese? The death of his own people?

_I saw the chance and took it. And I made wonderful progress, you must admit. The things I could have achieved back home..._

_That was my plan. To return home. After the war ended. To my wife, to my son. Return to my country and present them with all the wonderful scientific progress._

_It would have been great. Useful._

_If not for you._

_A meddling fool, with a bleeding heart for a fellow soldier. A fool who accused me of defecting to the enemy._

_Instead of a renowned scientist I became a cast out traitor. Facing life in prison or even a death sentence._

_It was you who cost me my future. My wife and my son. My whole damn life._

_I thought it fair then that in my last moments I could return the 'favour'._

_Upon my arrival however, I found out that you already managed to lose your family._

_What a shame._

_For a moment, I thought the only thing I could do was kill you._

_That seemed rather unsatisfactory. Too easy._

_Too painless._

_How can someone hurt a person who has no one to lose?_

Blake swallowed, the whiskey sitting wrong in his stomach. He could hear noises from the kitchen, Jean puttering around, making breakfast.

He had never been so grateful for the fact she spent the last three weeks in Adelaide, helping out Christopher Jr. with his daughter, while his wife was sick with pneumonia.

If she had been home...

Blake swallowed, wishing to burn the letter in his hands, but forcing himself to keep reading instead.

_But I was wrong._

_Of course I was._

_A man like you can't keep on living without the presence of others. You could hardly stand the loneliness in the prisoner camp, I can't imagine you becoming a well renowned police surgeon without others taking part._

_That's when I saw Sergeant Davis. A tenant. A friend._

_A son?_

_It seems almost fitting, you know._

_After all, it started with a young man you thought deserved better. He was my first victim._

_It seems like the best course of action to end this in the same way. You took my son. I took the closest thing you had to him within my reach._

_As I am writing this letter, I found out about your housekeeper. Jean is her name? Such a shame._

_For a moment I am hesitant. It still isn't too late to change my plans. I could just as well poison the love of your life... or your protégé._

_Oh, and how fitting would it be if you lost both of them?_

Blake felt the blood freeze in his veins. No. Jean couldn't be in danger, not anymore. Barnaby was dead and he couldn't hurt her. Still, he struggled with the urge to rush into the kitchen, wrap Jean in his arms and never let go. He could still hear her moving around. She was safe.

Blake returned to the letter. He needed to finish it, to find out whether others were still in danger or not. He wanted to drink the whole bottle of whiskey, but knew he needed a clear mind. Or as clear as could be after the last few days and drinks.

_Do not worry, my 'friend'. I had decided that leaving your lovely fiancé alive would be more of a punishment._

_Let her watch you break down with guilt over what happens to your young friend. Or even better. Let you feel the fear and realize how close she came to suffering the same fate. That horrible fate._

_And to know, it was all your fault._

_After all, you must surely realize, Blake. If it won't be me using her or your loved ones as a tool in my revenge against you... it will be someone else. A month from now... a year. A decade._

_But someone will come._

_Because of who you are. Of what you do._

_And I would be there, watching from the other side and laughing my head off._

"Damn you to hell, Jones," Blake growled, fighting the urge to crumple the letter and throw it into the fire. He still had the other page to read.

_You might be wondering what ailment had befallen your young friend. Worry not. I will tell you exactly what was on the boy's mind as he left this world. After all, I am not sure whether you would be able to put it all together and if nothing else, I want you to know his suffering. You deserve it._

_Oh, how you deserve it._

_By the time you read this there would be no help for him in any case. Not if I did my job right._

_You see, during my travels across the world I discovered many amazing things. Especially in the jungles of Amazonia... or the creatures from the deepest oceans. Combined with my knowledge about paralysing agents I acquired in China, I came up with something wonderful. Something revolutionary._

Blake gritted his teeth. It was obvious Barnaby planned this letter as his last words and wasn't above bragging. Blake's eyes ran over the short formulaic description of the drug Barnaby discovered. Unfortunately it seemed to be in a code. And even if he figured it out, there were no volumes anywhere. No way to re-create the agent, not unless they found something else in Barnaby's journals or the apartment he rented out.

Barnaby was still playing with him. Blake knew this was supposed to be some sort of an enigma, something he was supposed to figure out. Maybe even obsess about.

But Blake wasn't planning to. For one... Charlie was alive and seemingly on the mend. For two... he was not about to satisfy Barnaby's desires in any way. Let the bastard burn in hell and choke on the fact he didn't get the better of Blake.

_But enough of science. I am sure you are wondering about other things right now. For example, what were the actual effects of this magic formula. What was your young friend experiencing shortly after I delivered the drug into his system. How long it took him to die._

_I won't lie to you._

_Probably a long time._

_You see... this specific toxin's main effect is paralysis and slowing down of every bodily function, to an almost imperceptible levels. What is most amazing is the fact I discovered an agent that would allow the victim's brain to still work. Tell me, isn't that wonderful?_

_Just imagine. Unable to move, unable to speak. Yet feeling everything._

_Feeling your body being put on a stretcher and taken away from the weeping family. Feeling the coldness of the table in the autopsy room. Hearing the clinking of the instruments... yet being unable to utter a sound. Unable to scream. Only thing to do is wait. For the brain slowly suffocating and body succumbing to the effects of hypothermia if it was put into a freezer. Or better yet... wait for the feel of steel on your chest._

_Oh Lord, how I wish Sergeant Davis was still alive during the autopsy. Still aware._

_But that is only wishful thinking, I know. Most likely he will die waiting for a rescue, screaming silently to be heard. Thinking about how this is all _ _ **your ** _ _fault Lucien._

_I know it is likely he will be brain dead by the time any of the gory procedures involving the death of a police officer begin. But do not worry. I will be sure to tell him. Every gory thing awaiting him. In graphic detail. And that he can thank _ _ **you ** _ _for all of that._

_You see, Lucien. I don't forget nor forgive. You took what didn't belong to you. My family. My future._

_I will make sure I take the same from you._

_Best Regards and awaiting your company in hell,_

_Barnaby Jones_

* * *

By the time Jean popped her head into the office to call him for breakfast, Blake felt all colour drain from his face. His hands were shaking. Both from rage and worry. Rage about Barnaby's casual tone about the lives of his friends and family. Worry, because he felt they had some base of truth in them. Which meant that he was indeed putting Jean in danger. Putting everyone around him in danger. And just how many people like Barnaby were still lurking around?

Could he stave them all off or will someone once again pay the price for his own meddling spirit?

"Lucien? What's wrong?" Jean had obviously called his name a few times before, but Blake was too lost in his thoughts. He looked up and tried to plaster a smile on his face, but failed miserably.

"Ah, Jean. I... I will be right there, dear," he said, clearing his throat and fumbling to put the letter into the drawer of his desk.

Jean frowned and slowly walked up towards him. She wasn't stupid after all. Blake fell in love with her because of how smart she was. He should have known she would notice.

"Lucien," she said, laying her hand gently on his, stilling his movement. Blake couldn't find the courage to look at her, feeling the overwhelming guilt.

"I can't... can't do this," he muttered, shaking his head. He wanted to pull away, wanted to tell Jean that this was all a mistake and she would do so much better with someone else. She would be so much safer.

But he couldn't.

Her grip on his hand wasn't tight, wasn't restraining.

It was warm and gentle and full of love.

Blake felt weak.

"What can't you do, Lucien?" she asked, her other hand going to his face and Blake was forced to look up from his desk, look away from the blasted letter still clutched in his grip. He met her blue eyes.

"I can't keep putting you in danger," he said quietly.

The frown on her face deepened.

"What do you mean?"

Blake's eyes automatically looked down at the letter in his hand and Jean followed the motion. Without a spoken word, Jean's hand slid down to the letter.

Blake wanted to rip it up and throw it in the fire. The last thing he wanted was for Jean to read those damning words, to let her learn the truth about how close she came to suffering Charlie's fate.

But he couldn't. He knew he wouldn't be able to find the words to explain why they needed to end this, why she needed to find someone better. Someone safe.

She would keep asking and Blake would push at her, in the end hurting her more than the truth ever could.

Letting her read the letter was so much easier. She would understand. Or so he hoped.

"We promised each other, Lucien," she said softly. "The truth. Always. I don't care how bad it is."

Blake swallowed and nodded. His hand slid off the letter. He watched as Jean gave him one last questioning look, still needing the reassurance that it was alright. Blake nodded and watched as she took the letter in hand and started reading.

At first there was slight confusion on her face. She still haven't heard the whole story about Barnaby Jones, having arrived home only a day earlier. The confusion was however quickly transforming into horror. Her eyes widened and one of her hands flew up to her mouth as she most likely read Barnaby's sadistic plans for Charlie.

Blake reached out, wanting to offer some reassurance. He hesitated mid move, unsure if it would be welcome. But Jean stepped closer to him, as if seeking his warmth. Blake pulled her into a half hug as she kept reading on.

If she decided to leave, he wanted to have this last chance to be close to her. He wanted to pull her into a hug and never let go.

As she kept reading he felt her shaking form in his embrace so he ran his hand down her back repeatedly. When she finished the letter however, the shaking was gone. Instead of it, her back was stiff and tense.

She put the letter back down on the desk, then slowly turned in his embrace to fully face him.

There were tears in her eyes and Blake cursed himself for giving her the letter. It was such a cowardly thing to do.

"Oh Jean, I'm so sorry," he said and brushed away the wetness on her cheek.

"Poor Charlie! Do you think... did he really? Oh, what a horrible man that was!" she said, enraged.

Blake blinked.

Of course. She was concerned about Charlie, not about her own safety. God, how Blake loved that woman. How much he would miss her.

"Yes, he was a horrible man," Blake agreed. "I don't know what happened before we arrived there," he admitted, regret colouring his own voice.

"Did Charlie say anything this morning?"

Blake shook his head.

"He wasn't really up to much talking yet."

"But... did he look okay?"

"As far as I could tell," Blake said a bit hesitantly. He would rather not mention Charlie's panic at having been tied down.

Jean nodded.

"I hope he doesn't remember any of it."

Blake sighed.

While he hoped for the same, the look in Charlie's eyes upon his awakening wasn't very promising. The boy definitely went through something horrible and was aware of it. But Blake didn't want to say that to Jean. It wouldn't help a thing now. Maybe once Charlie was released and returned home... they would need to have a talk about that. Not now though.

"Is this-" Jean pointed to the letter as if it was a venomous snake, "what bothers you right now? What that man did to Charlie?"

She looked him straight in the eyes.

Blake blinked.

"Of course it bothers me, " he said with some confusion. "He shouldn't have gone through that. Not on my account. No one should," Blake added the last with a pointed look at Jean.

His voice softened and he pulled her into a tight embrace.

"My God Jean... it could've been you. I... I don't know what I would have done!" He burrowed his face in her shoulder, feeling a shudder run down his spine as she cradled her fingers through his hair soothingly.

"I'm so sorry. I never wanted to put you in danger," he kept muttering over and over until she pulled back a bit.

Gone were the tears from her face, the sadness and worry. There was only steely determination.

"Stop that nonsense now, Lucien. None of this was your fault!"

Blake frowned. What was she talking about?

"Of course it was! If I hadn't meddled-"

"Oh, bollocks!" she rolled her eyes and Blake found himself speechless.

Seeing her this angry, this fierce, just made him want to plant a hard kiss on her mouth and forget everything around. However, she wouldn't be as easy to deter.

"What would have happened to Jones if you haven't 'meddled' in Singapore?"

Blake stood frozen for a moment, thrown by the question.

"What?"

"Do you really want to tell me you could have lived with yourself just letting that man return to England?"

Blake was shaking his head before he even knew it.

Of course not.

Jones was a bloody killer.

"There was no other choice. I had to report it."

"Right! So... pray tell, what could you have done differently?"

Well, that was a question. Blake haven't thought of it. Didn't really have the time, ever since Barnaby's reappearance and the threats.

"I don't know," he admitted, at first a bit sheepishly. Then he shook his head. "But this isn't about the past. Didn't you read the letter? Don't you understand?"

It was Jean's turn to look confused.

"Understand what?"

"That being with me puts you in danger!"

Jean looked at him as if he had lost his mind. Then she laughed.

Blake wasn't sure if he should feel offended or start worrying about her mental state.

"Lucien! That's... do you realize how ridiculous it is?"

"I don't understand," he said and it was clear the offense took over. The laughter stopped and her face was back to understanding.

"Lucien... in the past three years we had several angry men barging into our house with a loaded gun in hand. I have faced armed women who killed their spouses. Both my sons were accused of murder at least once. You have been stabbed and accused of murder. Attracting danger is just... who you are."

Blake felt his face turn down at every mention of danger. The list was long... too long. It was a miracle both of them were still alive by this point.

Any other woman would have fled after the first time she had a gun put to her head.

Not Jean.

She was still here, by his side.

Determined as ever.

"I'm not leaving, Lucien," she spoke determinedly. "Not because some dead psychopat wrote you a letter."

"But... it could've been you!" Blake tried to argue one last time.

"It wasn't me though... it was Charlie," she said and Blake winced. "And if there's even a chance that Jones told him any of those things... that he knew what was happening," she nodded towards the letter with disgust, "he will need our help. _Both _of our help. Without dealing with your misplaced guilt."

Blake thought that was easier said than done. After reading the letter he imagined that looking Charlie in the eyes without thinking what had happened would not be easy. And although Jean's words soothed his primary urge to keep everyone at a safe distance from him, he still felt Charlie had faced too much pain on his account. The guilt had stayed.

"I don't know if I can be of any help to him," Blake admitted. Jean laid her hand on his cheek, running her fingers over his stubble.

"Of course you can."

"How?"

"Sometimes it's enough to listen," she said and the corner of her mouth quirked in a small smile. "And yes, I do realize that's not your strong suit." Her eyes glinted playfully. "But I will remind you if needed."

Blake sighed.

"What would I do without you?"

Jean rolled her eyes.

"Well, you are lucky you won't have to find out."

Blake tightened his arms around her. Their faces were so close they were almost touching. He felt her perfume and the smell of coffee in her breath.

"You won't change your mind about this?" Blake asked, squeezing the hand with the engagement ring. '_About me?'_

Jean stepped up on her toes and gently kissed him on the mouth.

"I know who I chose to be my husband. There's nothing that will keep us apart, Lucien," she whispered.


	6. Chapter 6

Charlie wasn't sure what was more tiring. Being unable to breathe properly without his chest hurting or the fact he had to keep hiding it. Ever since he woke up there were people around him. There was really no escape from the concern while being at the hospital, especially with his mother present. But at least at the hospital there were visiting hours. After which Charlie could let down the mask and stop pretending that everything was alright.

He was almost looking forward to the night. Until it came.

The dim lightning and the hushed sounds should have allowed him to fall asleep... but the discomfort didn't. Finding a comfortable sleeping position seemed to be impossible, even with the painkillers. And when the weariness finally forced him to sleep, the nightmares came.

_Trapped._

He couldn't move, couldn't scream. His eyes were open but no one seemed to notice. Not Alice Harvey... not Blake. They were leaning over him with sadness on their faces, mixed with professional interest. Like a bug under the microscope.

Blake reached out and turned Charlie's face this way and that. Charlie couldn't budge. He wanted to shout, to ask what was happening. He wanted to let out a sound. Any sound.

Blake turned to Harvey and shook his head.

"Pupils are dilated, rigor mortis had already set in. We can proceed with the autopsy."

'_What? Autopsy? No! No, I'm here. I'm alive! Doc!' _Charlie shouted, but no sound came.

Blake turned away and in his place stood Dr. Harvey. With a scalpel in her hand and a raised eyebrow.

"Are you sure we can proceed, Lucien?" she asked and Charlie put in all the force he could muster to try and move. To no avail.

"Yes, please start," Blake said, still not looking at Charlie.

Harvey's hand moved and Charlie saw the flash of the scalpel, then felt something cold touch his chest and push down.

He came to with a scream as he scrambled away. Suddenly the bed was gone and gravity took over. There was a thump and Charlie grunted as he hit the floor.

For a second he lay there, unable to breathe, unable to think. He didn't even feel the pain until someone moved next to him.

He gasped, taking in a breath, then moaned as his ribs and whole upper body protested. His feet were tangled up in a sheet. Next to him knelt nurse Gladys with a look of concern on her face.

"Are you alright, Sergeant Davis?" she asked and Charlie swallowed, then gave a small nod.

"Oh dear. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. Even though your sleep didn't seem all that restful."

"N-nightmare," Charlie let out, his own voice sounding choked off. Nurse Gladys just nodded understandingly.

"Of course. They are quite common after traumatic experiences. Alright. Let's get you back to bed, yes?"

Charlie couldn't but agree. Even though he would have preferred not having to move for the foreseeable future.

After some more grunting and a quick check by the nurse that he didn't break or worsen anything, Charlie was once again left alone with a promise of trying to go back to sleep.

He let the sleep claim him, hoping the nightmares were over for the night.

Unfortunately, that wasn't the case.

Two more times he came awake with a scream on his lips, breath lost in a pained grunt. He hadn't fallen off the bed, but it was hardly any consolation. The third time he could swear he could feel the edge of the scalpel slice into his skin and it took him a moment of frantic fumbling with his pyjama shirt buttons to realize he wasn't bleeding. His chest wasn't cut open.

After that rather vivid imagery, Charlie gave up his attempt at sleep. After all... he shouldn't really even be tired. He had spent the last day laying still... barely even moving a muscle after all. What right did he have to feel tired now?

It was too bad it was only five in the morning. Charlie yawned and decided that counting the steps of the nurse walking the hall should be sufficient entertainment. That and trying not to think about what had happened to bring him here.

His mind was a treacherous place though and if Charlie didn't want to think about the past, he had to think forward. For example... how soon he could go back home. Even if he couldn't really sleep, he would much prefer to be awake in his own bed. To be able to turn on the light and read or heck, listen to the late night radio. Anything to take his mind off of the discomfort and the crippling fear of being unable to move.

He was at the same time thankful for being left alone and annoyed by the fact he longed for a presence of another person. The silence and the emptiness of the room made him shiver. It was cold in here.

With a grimace, Charlie pulled the blanket up to his chin, finding at least some comfort in its warmth and softness. After all, there were no pillows or blankets in the autopsy. Only a cold, flat slab and the smell of formaldehyde...

Charlie once again shivered and turned his head towards the door. He could see some light seeping in from the hallway. The footsteps in the hall were becoming more frequent, the chatter more recognizable. People were waking up. As the light started filtering in through the windows as well, Charlie felt himself relax into the cushions a bit. He fell asleep, for a precious short while unbothered by nightmares.

* * *

When Charlie woke up for breakfast, he started playing a game. He called it _'Let's pretend everything is fine and I didn't go through hell' _so that his mother would feel comfortable enough to return home and leave him in the capable hands of his 'adoptive' family. For most part, Charlie was quite successful in the game. He was actually so good that he managed to convince his attending doctor (who for some reason wasn't Blake) to let him go home.

Despite the fact he obviously hadn't slept much the previous night. But since the only thing hindering his mobility right now were the broken ribs and bruised sternum, and the blood tests showed the toxin was all out of his system, there was no real reason to keep him behind. Charlie's argument that he will be going to the house with a doctor at hand was good enough.

Blake didn't protest.

He didn't seem exactly thrilled, but Charlie wasn't sure what was the reason for that. Blake had barely spoken to him during his visit. Or rather... he spoke plenty. Just never about what happened. And he never really looked Charlie in the eyes, which was more than a startling behaviour from the usually straightforward man.

Charlie wanted to ask several times what was wrong that evening as they drove home, but his mother was sitting in the back seat with Jean and there wasn't the right moment. He had a feeling that Blake's strange behaviour had something to do with Barnaby and if that was the case, Charlie definitely didn't want to bring that up in the presence of his mother. So he waited and kept playing the _'Let's pretend'_ game during the dinner. It was only as his mom was giving him a goodbye hug that he couldn't hide the grimace of pain. Blake had been standing just a bit behind his mother, waiting to be a gentleman and hand her the coat. Their eyes had met just as Shirley squeezed a bit tighter and Charlie let the pain show.

Blake's face scrunched up in a familiar emotion before he averted his eyes and cleared his throat.

Charlie had quickly uttered some soothing remark for his mother's sake, assured her that he was indeed alright and would be taking it easy. He watched as Blake helped her into the coat, gave a quick peck to Jean's lips and with an air of paternal sternness turned to Charlie.

"Straight up to bed, Charlie. And don't forget to take the pills."

Charlie nodded.

"Sure, Doc. Thanks..."

Blake froze momentarily and Charlie hastily added: "For taking my mom to the bus station."

"Of course," Blake muttered and excused himself to go start the car. Charlie waved at his mom and stood, leaning against the door frame, until the Holden drove out of the yard.

He couldn't stop thinking about the emotion on Blake's face for that short moment.

It was guilt.

"Come on, Charlie. You really shouldn't be on your feet now," Jean said, putting her arm around his shoulders and bringing him out of his thoughts.

"I'm fine," Charlie muttered automatically, but allowed the woman to steer him towards his room. He didn't really notice she was following close behind until he entered the room and headed towards the bed, looking to change into his pyjamas.

"Here, there's a fresh pair on the chair. I put the ones from the hospital into the wash straight away."

Charlie blinked, startled.

"Oh, thanks. You didn't have to, really."

Jean shrugged.

"I personally prefer my clothes not smelling of the hospital. I just thought you might too," she said and as Charlie took the pyjamas into his hands, he caught the gentle soothing scent of lavender. He couldn't help but agree with Jean.

"Do you need some help with changing? Or should I leave you to it?" Jean asked and Charlie realized he was standing in the middle of the room, his nose disconcertingly close to his pyjamas. He felt the heat in his cheeks.

"Uh... I... I can manage, thank you," he stuttered, feeling a bit stupid but also relieved when he saw the smile on Jean's face.

"You're welcome. I'll go grab your pills in the meantime. If you need help, just shout."

Charlie nodded. He waited until the door to his room closed before he started the slow and rather painful task of trying to get his shirt off. At least all he had to contend with were a few buttons, but getting his arms out was no joy. He had to stop several times to catch his breath, muttering silent curses and hoping Jean would take her sweet time coming back.

After five more minutes of struggling, Charlie had practically collapsed back into bed, pants and shirt discarded on the floor. There was no way he could lean over to pick them up.

Charlie let out a groan that was half relief over being finally in his own bed and half a grunt of dissatisfaction when he realized his bed didn't prove to be any more comfortable than the one in the hospital.

As if she was waiting behind the door, Jean chose that moment to knock on the door.

"Can I come in, Charlie?" she asked and Charlie wondered if he shouldn't ask her to come back later, once he didn't feel like an elephant was taking a tap dance lesson on his chest. Maybe he could even manage to kick his clothes out of sight, under the bed by then. But he remembered she was bringing the pain relief as well.

"Yeah... come in," he called out.

"Ah, good. You made it to bed," she said with a smile as she entered the room. "For a moment I was worried you ended up on the floor."

"Huh?" Charlie asked, confused. He really hoped he didn't look _that _sick.

"I heard a thud," Jean explained even as she put down the plate with a glass of water and the pills, then leaned down to pick up Charlie's clothes.

"Oh, that... I just... kicked off my shoes," he admitted sheepishly.

"I figured as much since I didn't hear any shouting for help," she said with a wink, then handed him the glass and two pills.

Charlie looked at them with some distaste, but he didn't protest. He wasn't a fan of drugs. Hell, a few years back he managed to go to work with three busted ribs and nothing but paracetamol to ease the pain. True... that didn't end up so well for him in the long run, but still. He managed. Now however... the pain was different. Maybe it was the location or just the repeated bruising... Charlie even entertained the thought that the pain felt more real because he was aware of every blasted moment the injury was happening. And it was a _long _moment.

"Are you alright, Charlie?"

Jean's voice broke through his haze and Charlie hastily swallowed the pills with the water.

"Yeah... sorry. I'm just... glad to be home," he said and tried to put on a fake reassuring smile. The frown on Jean's face showed he wasn't successful.

"We're glad to have you home as well," she said softly. There was a moment of awkward silence and it seemed like Jean wanted to say something, but then she changed her mind. Instead she pulled up Charlie's covers and essentially tucked him in, handing him several more pillows that went previously unnoticed on the bed.

"Here... Lucien said propping yourself up with these might make you more comfortable."

Charlie took one of the pillows and pressed it against his side to ease some of the pressure off his back. Then he realized Jean just gave him a great opening.

"Uh... is... is the Doc okay?" he asked and watched as Jean paused in her ministrations. "Jean?"

She let out a sigh and settled on the edge of Charlie's bed.

"Why do you ask, Charlie?"

He knew it was just an attempt at stalling. Jean knew very well why he was asking... otherwise he wouldn't suddenly have a problem catching her gaze.

"Because ever since I woke up... he hasn't looked me in the eyes." Charlie paused, then added. "Just like you right now."

Startled, Jean looked up and their gazes met.

Charlie knew something must've happened. Something outside of his being almost dead state. He felt a twitch of worry.

"What's wrong?" he asked and felt the urge to get out of bed, to find answers. "Did something else happen? Are we still in danger?" Charlie pushed himself up on his elbows, then grunted. It was a stupid move.

Jean reached out to help him lay back.

"Oh Charlie, no. There is no more danger. Just stay still," she soothed and Charlie had to take a few moments to breathe through the pain. He wished those pills would work a bit faster and cursed his own recklessness.

"Are... are you sure?" he asked once he could catch his breath.

Jean nodded.

"We are safe. Jones is... gone," she said and Charlie winced. Of course he was, he knew that. He was there when the man blew out his own brain.

"Then why is Blake... acting so strange?"

Jean sighed, running a hand down Charlie's face.

"He... I think he feels responsible."

Charlie frowned.

"That's stupid."

Jean chuckled.

"Yes, I told him the same thing."

"Well... he should believe you," Charlie said with a frown and felt himself sink further down into the cushions. Jean kept running her hand through his hair soothingly and Charlie yawned.

"Yes, he should. But... he's stubborn and he needs to figure some things out for himself."

Charlie sighed.

He could understand that. He just wished the Doc would do it fast. Because if he was too busy working over his own issues and guilt... who would be there for Charlie to help pick up the pieces?

Who would help _him _to realize the nightmare was over and that it won't come back?

Jean must've seen the fear in his eyes. She gave his cheek a smallest pat, to get his attention.

"Whatever he needs to work through... it doesn't mean he won't be there for you. Or me... or Matthew. We will all be here when you need us, alright, Charlie?"

Charlie wished that was true. He hoped he won't need to test it. But Jean was still waiting for his answer and Charlie couldn't let his doubts show. So he nodded.

"Thanks," he muttered.

"I mean it, Charlie. If you need to talk... we are here."

Charlie nodded again, then broke out in a yawn. His eyes felt suddenly heavy and he realized the pain was becoming more and more dull. He felt a momentary panic hit him at the heaviness of his limbs, until he caught sight of Jean. She was there and Charlie realized it was the pills starting to work.

"Hush, you are safe. Just go to sleep," Jean muttered and Charlie let his eyes slip closed, hoping that the nightmares would stay away.

* * *

He wasn't safe. He was back in the apartment, lying on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. Unable to move, unable to breathe.

Blake was there, his hands pressed against Charlie's chest. Pushing and cracking ribs.

Charlie watched the desperation grow on the man's face, as once again someone shouted "Stop!"

Blake did and looked away from Charlie.

"He's dead. It's over, Lucien," the voice said and Charlie felt fear grip his insides. It wasn't Dr. Harvey's voice. It wasn't even Lawson.

A figure stepped into Charlie's line of vision.

"I think you have done enough, Lucien," Barnaby Jones said with contrite voice, one hand patting Blake on the shoulder consolingly. "It's time I took care of things."

Charlie watched in horror as Blake sighed and with a last nod turned away from him.

'Doc? No, wait! I'm here!' Charlie screamed but his body still wasn't working.

He had to watch as Blake vanished from his line of vision. Barnaby leaned over him and there was the smirk on his face, the one saying he knew very well Charlie was awake.

"I told you what will happen, Sergeant. I told you _exactly_. Now... be a good boy. Stay still." Barnaby chuckled and Charlie felt as if he would bring up his breakfast. His chest was hurting, his lungs screaming for breath. The room started darkening around the edges and as he blinked he was somewhere else. A white, cold room. Smelling of disinfectant and something else. Death.

He was lying flat on a table, a sharp light shining straight onto his face.

He was half expecting Alice and Blake to be there, but the only person in the room with him was Jones. Still smirking like a maniac... and wielding a scalpel.

"Now, let's see what's inside your chest, Sergeant. What makes you... tick?" Jones snickered and the hand with the scalpel moved in front of Charlie's eyes, the steel glinting threateningly.

He was bare-chested, he could tell as much. The cold air was causing his flesh to break out in goose bumps. But there was really no one to notice. No one that mattered at least.

The scalpel touched the skin and pressed down.

Charlie bolted up in the bed, the scream tearing from his throat all too real.

He screamed until there was a rush of movement and a sudden light chased away the darkness. Someone had pulled him close and Charlie instinctively buried his head against the chest, his fists grasping at the person's clothes as if it was a lifeline.

Charlie's scream turned into a much lower, but equally horrible keening sound. He didn't even realize he was making that sound. All he knew was that he was still alive. That he could still move his arms, feel the fabric of the shirt. Hear the words being repeated into his ears, a hand running up and down his back.

"It's okay, I'm here. You're alright, Charlie. It was just a nightmare. I'm here."

Over and over, until the words finally penetrated through the horror of the night and Charlie identified the person he had in his clutches as one Lucien Blake.

He should have let go then, scrambled back and apologized for the display of weakness.

Instead, Charlie's fingers tightened over Blake's pyjama shirt.

He managed to stop the keening, but the gasps for air didn't sound any more manly.

Charlie couldn't care less.

For the moment, nothing mattered. Just the fact he was back in his room, safe.

"It's alright, Charlie. Try to slow down your breathing?" Blake couched and Charlie forced himself to listen. He heard some movement from the door, heard Jean ask if she can help. He felt Blake turning towards her and for a second he thought the man was about to leave.

"Stay!" he gasped out a desperate plea. Blake froze.

"I'm not going anywhere, Charlie," the man reassured him.

"I'll put on a kettle," Jean said and Charlie could hear her steps fading away.

"You're alright, Charlie. I'm here. Now just... follow my breathing."

Charlie knew Blake was talking down to him, as if he was a skittish animal or a hurt child. He felt an urge to snap that he was neither. That he didn't need molly coddling.

But to do that he needed to be able to put together a sentence, which required breathing. So he followed Blake's prompting. When their breaths finally matched, Charlie's thoughts about a snappy comeback were gone. Only thing he could focus on was the way his chest hurt and the acute sense of embarrassment. He felt the shirt pressed against his face was damp and he didn't even try to decipher if it was from sweat, tears or snot. Neither was very flattering.

"Charlie?" Blake spoke, the word an encouragement as well as a query. Charlie nodded his head and slowly released his grip on Blake's shirt. Then with a shaky breath, he raised his head a bit and scooted back. Or at least tried to.

There was a sharp pain just over his sternum and he let out a grunt, both arms curling around his chest protectively.

"Here," Blake was nudging a pillow at him. Charlie took it, thankful for the gesture and hugged it to his chest, trying to breathe through the pain. It would have been easier if the breathing wasn't the cause, but... whatever.

"Alright there?"

Charlie nodded, but he didn't look up. He finally started paying attention to his surroundings rather than what was going on inside his mind. He noted it was pitch black outside and a sideways glance at Blake showed ruffled hair and a sleepy look. It must've been the middle of the night. Which meant... he woke the house up with his screaming.

"Sorry," he mumbled, face half hidden in the pillow clutched against his chest.

"What's that?"

"I'm sorry," Charlie said more audibly. "Didn't... didn't mean to wake you."

The bed dipped as Blake sat down on the edge of his bed. Charlie tried to scoot back a bit, to make space or to put some distance between them, but the movement was more trouble than it was worth. He gave up and accepted that there was no escape, as Blake put a hand on the side of his face, nudging him gently to look up.

"You don't have to apologize for that, Charlie. Are you alright now?"

Charlie swallowed. He wasn't sure if he said yes Blake would just up and leave. While he didn't want to keep the older man awake with his fears... Charlie didn't want to stay alone now either. He didn't want to fall back to sleep and risk more nightmares. It was enough he woke up the house once. He didn't know how much patience Blake and Jean would have if he repeated it two or three times a night. And what if this happened again? What if the nightmares never left?

Charlie was already trying to figure out if he could afford an apartment somewhere if Blake kicked him out. Somewhere he would have no neighbours? How loud was he screaming anyway? What if he would never be able to get a proper sleep again?

"Charlie? What's running through that head of yours?" Blake asked and there was a worried frown on his face.

Charlie gritted his teeth, forcing down the urge to apologize again. He just shook his head in silence.

Blake sighed, letting his hand fall down, resting on Charlie's hand. Charlie didn't pull away, the warmth of the touch a welcome relief from the sudden chill he felt.

"I know this might not be the best time," Blake started and his own voice held some hesitation, "but I think we need to talk. About what happened," he added softly.

Charlie swallowed, then nodded.

There was a momentary silence, as if the agreement took away some wind from Blake's sail. He seemed hesitant and Charlie wondered if maybe he should start? But then... what did _he _have to say to the whole thing? He wasn't involved, no more than any other cop in the city. This shouldn't have been personal for him. Hell, up until this week he haven't even heard about Barnaby Jones. But somehow, the man managed to make it personal. Because of Blake.

"Why me?" Charlie was a bit startled by hearing his own voice. Blake looked startled too.

"What?"

"Why did he chose me?" Charlie repeated, a bit unsure why he even asked the question.

"He wanted to hurt me," Blake said after a moment of thought. "So he picked someone I cared for."

Charlie frowned and his confusion must've been evident.

"Jean was in Adelaide for the last three weeks," Blake reminded him, understanding.

"Ah."

"Not that it matters."

"I don't understand," Charlie frowned.

Blake shook his head and his eyes darkened with anger and guilt.

"He hurt you, because he wanted to hurt me. He wanted me to feel guilty for... for your death. Because of what I cost him."

"I know that," Charlie said as if Blake was just stating the obvious and being obtuse about it. "Why... why are you playing into his cards though?"

Blake looked as if he needed a strong cup of coffee or a shot of whiskey.

"I'm not," he protested feebly and turned his face away. Once again not meeting Charlie's eyes. "Maybe we should leave this for another time," Blake said and stood up. "You need your rest."

Charlie felt something new inside his chest.

Anger.

"You are!" he spat out, startling Blake.

"What?" Blake turned to him, confused.

"You are doing... just what he wanted!" Charlie pushed out, taking in a shaky breath before Blake could so much as protest. "You are taking the blame and pushing us all away, aren't you?"

Blake was staring at him, silent.

That was as good as an admission in Charlie's mind. He huffed and leaned a bit further forward.

"What... do you think this was all your fault? That we are all just pawns to be used against you?"

"Well, aren't you?" Blake snapped back. "Bloody hell, Charlie! Barnaby almost killed you just for being my friend. _I _almost killed you two days ago! If not for Alice..." Blake shook his head, running a hand through his weary face. "Maybe you _would _be safer if-" Blake stopped.

Charlie stared at him with wide eyes, suddenly afraid. Afraid and pissed.

"What, Doc?" he asked, his voice cracking.

Blake stayed silent.

"If... if I moved out? If I stopped talking to you?" Charlie said and he felt his body starting to shake.

"I didn't mean that," Blake said, somehow taken aback by Charlie actually voicing what was on his mind. As if hearing it out loud made him realize how ridiculous it was. "I was just... scared."

But Charlie didn't care for Blake's sudden realization.

"Scared... you?" Charlie laughed, but it wasn't a happy sound. It was raw and full of disbelief.

Blake flinched.

He opened his mouth to say something, maybe to try and deescalate the situation.

"We should really leave this for later, Charlie. It's late... we are both tired."

Charlie shook his head. He couldn't stop now even if he wanted. And he didn't want to.

"Scared... you know... you know what was scary, Doc?"

Blake looked him in the eyes, then shook his head.

"Being awake the whole damn time!" Charlie shouted, spit flying from his mouth.

Blake just stood there, frozen, eyes wide. Charlie ignored it.

"Do you know what it's like... being unable to move, Doc? To breathe? To _blink_?"

Blake swallowed.

"Charlie-"

"No. Don't... don't you dare tell me _you _were scared. Don't you dare give up on me now!"

"Charlie, I would never-" Blake stepped back to the bed, a horrified look on his face as he reached out, but Charlie pulled away. He couldn't stop now. He had to get this off his chest before he would be stopped by the look on Blake's face. Before he would see more guilt or pity. That wasn't what he wanted. Or needed.

"Do you..." Charlie took in a choked breath. "Do you want to know what happened at the apartment?" he asked and his voice was low. Blake gave a slow nod.

So Charlie told him. About the ambush. About waking up, dazed and confused. Having to listen to Barnaby's threats. The gruesome description of what was about to happen to him... then the horror of feeling the needle plunge into his skin.

Being trapped inside his own body and unable to tune any of it out.

As Charlie's voice was getting shakier, Blake's own face was getting paler. Somewhere in the middle of his recounting, Blake grasped Charlie's hand, as if wanting to make sure he was still there. To give him strength to continue.

"Do you know what was most scary, Doc?"

Blake shook his head and his face plainly showed he would have trouble picking just one thing from all Charlie said up till now.

"You giving up. The moment when Dr. Harvey told you to stop and you did... because that's when I thought I would truly die."

"Oh Charlie," Blake leaned over and pulled him into a hug.

Charlie didn't fight the embrace. He just held still, trying to control his own breathing.

"I'm so sorry this happened," Blake muttered repeatedly, until Charlie nodded his head. He released the embrace, but left his hand linger on Charlie's shoulder.

"I... I'm not blaming you. It was... it was all Jones. But... you must stop blaming yourself too, Doc," Charlie said, half pleading.

Blake looked as if he wanted to protest and Charlie knew the next words out of his mouth would be 'It's not that easy, Charlie.' And he understood that. But... he also needed Blake to understand something else.

"All that happened... it's over. You can't change that. Just please... don't shut me out. Don't give up on me _now, _because I don't think I can get through this alone."

"You are not alone, Charlie," Blake said resolutely. "I'm ... I'm not going anywhere. And whatever help you need, you will get. I promise that."

Charlie wanted to believe him. He really wanted to. But there was one thing that haunted him.

"The nightmares... I can't stop the nightmares, Doc. What if they never stop?"

"They will, Charlie. Sooner or later... they always do," Blake said and the weary tone spoke volumes about his own experience with nightmares.

"But...how long?" Charlie asked, hoping it didn't come out as childish as it felt.

"As long as it takes. We will be there to help you through."

"I don't want to be a burden... I don't want to keep waking you up."

"Hey," Blake admonished and Charlie looked at him, startled. "If I'm not allowed to feel guilty for what happened... you sure as hell aren't allowed to feel guilty for having to deal with the consequences. Are we clear?"

Charlie blinked, working through Blake's words in his mind. Finally he gave a nod of agreement.

"I think so."

"Good. Now... " Blake gave Charlie's leg a pat. "I'm sure Jean is either getting worried or had fallen asleep in the kitchen. Do you want me to bring the cup here for you? Or do you feel like having an early morning tea in the living room?"

Charlie wasn't sure how early it was exactly, but he knew that a change of scenery would be more than welcome.

With a bit of help from Blake, he made his slow and shuffling way to the couch in the living room. Jean gave both of them a soft relieved smile before hiding a yawn behind her palm. She brought the tea and some biscuits as Blake helped Charlie settle comfortably on the couch. It was only as Charlie took a sip of the warm tea that he noticed something.

"Uh... where is the Boss?" he was sure that if his screaming managed to wake up Jean and Blake, Lawson would have at least poked a head into the room at some point. But there was no sign of him.

Blake and Jean exchanged an amused look. Jean hid her smile in the cup of tea, while Blake cleared his throat and settled down in his chair.

"Now see... Matthew had finally... seized the day, so to speak. The events of the last few days made him realize he shouldn't be losing time..." Blake paused, unsure how to continue exactly. Charlie raised an eyebrow and Jean rolled her eyes.

"Ah, for goodness sake. Matthew finally asked Alice out for dinner. Seeing as he hasn't returned home yet... I would dare say he's either lying dead somewhere or it went well," Jean said, finishing with a cheeky grin.

This time when Charlie couldn't catch his breath, it was because he almost choked on the tea.

* * *

Things weren't as easy as they used to be. The nightmares stayed for a long time.

There were moments when Charlie felt like he couldn't move. Sometimes, he suffered flashbacks during the day. His ribs healed slowly and even after they knitted and the bruises were all gone, a simple twitch could send Charlie's heart into a tailspin. Oftentimes, he dreamed of autopsy tables and glinting scalpels. Sometimes he woke up to a scream... sometimes he woke up to utter silence and darkness.

Charlie preferred the screams, because those always brought company and light.

Blake had nightmares too, although he never truly spoke about them. He dreamt of his friends being buried alive, of frantically knocking at the coffin as it was lowered into the ground. He dreamt of Jean staring at him with dead eyes and an accusation on motionless lips. But then he woke up and he was never alone either.

As time passed by, the nightmares became less frequent for both of them. The fear of losing loved ones stayed. The fear of being left alone, of people giving up, lessened. Because they never did.

The guilt was becoming easier to bear.

**The End**


End file.
